


to live and die in liberty city

by 8TimesTheCharm, hoverbun



Series: the ballad of an empress [1]
Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Persona 2, Persona Series, Persona | Revelations Persona, Shin Megami Tensei: if...
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Blood and Violence, Corruption, Crime, F/F, F/M, Gang Violence, Gen, Hospitals, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, References to Drugs, Religious Cults, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 114,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13347588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8TimesTheCharm/pseuds/8TimesTheCharm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoverbun/pseuds/hoverbun
Summary: The year is 2014. Shadowed by the Nanjo Family Conglomerate, Liberty City is the harbour of the American dream. In this city of glamour and freedom, crime lingers under the surface like a bad omen, and the higher you climb the closer it comes to swallowing you whole - no matter who you are or where you came from.Tatsuya Suou, a twenty-five year old police investigator working with the Liberty City Police Department, isn't the type of person to look for trouble - until it threatens to shatter his world if he doesn't do something about it.A Grand Theft Auto / Persona AU.





	1. welcome to liberty city

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the result of a three year old project that's finally getting put to paper!
> 
> written with the development and work of my dear friend 8TimesTheCharm; i finally get to share with you - a grand theft auto/persona crossover! we start chronologically, all the way back with the persona 1&2 cast. those looking forward to more recent persona casts - you'll just have to hold on a little bit longer!
> 
> the first in a series of three. side stories and vignettes will be written after each main story arc. sit back and enjoy the ride!
> 
> all named characters come from persona / shin megami tensei games, and belong to atlus & their writers. writing tone & characterization is reflective of the gta setting.

Liberty City is an empire of concrete skyscrapers within the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The sun kisses the buildings of capital, and does not reach the roads beneath their monolith prisons. Even on bright summer days, only a shadow casts down across the streets and cars, darkening the city centre, and roll over the rooftops.

You're not allowed to smoke too close to the airport doors - but even at the peak of midday, Tatsuya Suou doesn't spot a single security officer at this kiss-and-ride by Francis International. He holds the cigarette between his lips to fish for a lighter, and soon lights it - inside his chest, over his shoulders, he can feel the weight of travel burden down on him, exhaustion pulling at his bones, and heart, and lungs; like the promise of a long night's sleep cresting a hazy, clouded horizon.

Or maybe, it's just the urge to smoke. Maybe both?

He hasn't had a cigarette in over six hours since embarking from Los Santos, departing from his Dryft and hiding himself in the shadow of the smoker's area of Los Santos International Airport. In Liberty City, he has a moment of privacy to indulge among the hum of airport activity, cars that pass and people that chatter. Pulling his luggage with him, Tatsuya soon leans against a stone pillar, its front lit with an advertisement of a west coast pop starlet he distantly remember seeing on the west coast.

He's not well knowledged on the rise of pop and celebrity culture. Though he's known the glamour of Liberty City for ten long years, the excitement of concerts, starlets, secret parties and movies are best left in his highschool years. Living in Liberty City dulls you of its beauty - pushing past the city's square into the boroughs, it only leaves a mystery.

Without the beauty, that mystery starts to look a little bit more like a threat than it does an adventure.

He tries not to think about it.

A familiar red Dilettante rolls into his vision. As it pulls up next to him and comes to a stop, Tatsuya puts the cigarette between his teeth and pulls his luggage forward, off the pillar and to the back seat of the car. Pulling open the door, he pushes his bag into the back seat as his brother turns around.

"It's good to see you," Katsuya says, with half of a grin on his face. The smoke rises in his face, and it clouds Tatsuya's vision. "Tired yet?"

"All day," Tatsuya replies, closing the rear door to climb into the passenger's seat. Katsuya starts driving as Tatsuya closes his door, pulls his seatbelt on, and takes his cigarette to hang it out the window. "Been up since six."

"Give yourself a couple of hours to see if jet lag kicks in." Without missing a beat, Katsuya merges into the fleet of cars, while leaning towards Tatsuya, his arm reaching for the cigarette that begins to move towards his mouth. Tatsuya smacks his hand away. "Don't smoke in my car."

"I couldn't smoke on the ride in Los Santos," he grumbles, leaning further away. "Let me have one."

"Did you smoke inside the airport, too?"

"Of course not-"

"You're not supposed to smoke in there, Tatsuya. When are you going to make the effort to quit?"

"When I'm not on six hour flights from Los Santos to Liberty City.” Tatsuya leans himself farther out the window, the roll of smoke and city breeze rustling his hair. “Visiting our elderly father alone."

Katsuya pulls a tight frown when Tatsuya taps ash out the window, looking back at the road. "You know I wanted to come with you. With work-"

"It's whatever," Tatsuya responds immediately, "Dad knows."

A Turismo going uncharacteristically slow sits in front of them, waiting to be passed. Katsuya visibly suffocates on the silence, stemmed only by the hiss of burning paper, and speaks to break it.

"It’s been busy while you were gone." He passes the vehicle, pulling forward to one of the many intersections of Dukes Boulevard.

“It’s only been a week or so. Can’t imagine what kind of surprise you have for me.”

“Does an arrest for public intoxication interest you?”

“Try a little harder.”

"I met a friend of yours in questioning a few days ago."

"Eikichi?" Tatsuya tries, which makes his brother laugh.

"No. It was Naoya Toudou."

"I thought he moved off to Florida," Tatsuya says, turning his head and unconsciously sitting up in his seat.

"Must've come back. Shiori was questioning him about the Chris situation. Thought he might know something, with the company he's been keeping."

When the city seemed a lot smaller and their problems were a lot more pettier - Naoya Toudou was there. He came after Eikichi and Lisa, but he mattered just as much as them.

Tatsuya leans against the car door. "Haven't heard from him for ages, Kats."

"Then it might be a little unethical," Katsuya continues, "but maybe you could call him up and get him to talk about what Shiori couldn't crack out of him."

"I doubt he's involved," Tatsuya muses, throwing the cigarette out the window.

"You never know, Tatsuya," Katsuya replies, as the first arch of the Algonquin Bridge shadows the roof of the car. "You always have to anticipate the worst sometimes."

* * *

 

The bed he slept on in his hotel in Los Santos was a lot more soft than his bed at home. And Tatsuya hated it.

His luggage bag is a black plastic-cased carrier with a week's clothes, his phone charger, and a pamphlet passed to him from one of the _many_ street preachers he couldn't push away when he took a day to himself to walk the Del Perro Pier. He nudges it close to his mattress and sits down next to it, the firmness a welcome weight to lower himself down on. His back stretches against it, and he sighs something content, phone now out of his pocket and held above his face.

Katsuya opens his door, keeping in the doorway while checking whatever text he got on his day off.

"Are you going to be going out at all?"

"I'm supposed to be going somewhere?" Tatsuya turns his head towards his brother, stretching a leg up to his bed to try and make a point.

"You're out of Redwoods, so I thought you’d be on your way out." There's a hint of a sigh with how Katsuya speaks, and he pockets his iFruit quietly. "Tomorrow, I want you to go find your friend and talk to him. He'll listen to you a lot more than someone like me."

"And this guy - Chris?" Tatsuya makes no effort to move from his bed.

The more he lays there, the more his brother watches him, all stiff shoulder and suit half-pressed in the doorway - the more the two of them roll back, back to when Tatsuya was eighteen and Katsuya dragged him home from high school to complain about something in the doorway. Juvenile.

"We haven't gotten his real name yet. It's his street name. We know he's Japanese, thirty at the most, seems to have a bit of a hold in Broker." Katsuya leans in the doorframe. "Are you going to get up? You look like a teenager home from school... _”_

The silence that catches them makes Tatsuya almost believe he's walked away until he speaks, and he's surprised enough that he looks up at Katsuya.

"Your bike’s still in parking." The shuffle of Katsuya's feet down their apartment's carpet hallway.

Tatsuya sighs, and rolls to his side. He swings his feet off his bed and paths through the doorway, closing it behind him.

He thinks about the way Katsuya forces himself to stand a little taller when he's irritated, and cuts his hair like their father. He thinks about the last solo Suou brother excursion to visit their incarcerated father, and how Katsuya came back with a sunburn and a written letter from their father about how _sad_ he was Tatsuya had to work.

He thinks about smoking Redwoods on a beach in Florida.


	2. the second connection

Dukes is a place that Tatsuya considers a home more than the apartments of Algonquin and the business laden districts of Broker. He remembers the neighbourhood that he drives through as something from his high school hysteria, nights wasted in a car with his friends as they shirk responsibilities. He drums his fingers against his bike’s handlebar, gazing at the entrance to Meadows Park - the Monoglobe peeks over trees as round as the globe itself. Distantly, the running water in the fountain can be heard.

The Monoglobe was the monolith for many weekend walks at night, and he feels a touch of nostalgia tug inside of him as he pulls into one of the stops along the curb. He was told to drive to Cerveza Heights, but he’d figure to find Naoya in a more appropriate haunting ground in the memory of wasted days.

Tatsuya puts his foot down and removes his helmet, hooking it to the helmet lock as he walks past the gate, occupied by a couple locked arm in arm with one another.

He wonders, distantly, while reaching for his phone, how Naoya is.

“Shit, Suou?”

A voice he certainly doesn’t recognize comes from his left, catching him off guard in the gates of Meadows Park. Tatsuya turns his head and comes face with a punkish looking man, lugged down by a heavy backpack and capped with a yellow hat.

“How long has it been, man?” He says, and his hand is up to clasp Tatsuya’s the moment he realizes.

“Inaba,” he says, a muted smile finding him while he reaches up to grip his hand, clapping an open hand around his shoulder and pulling him in. “Good to see you. Haven’t seen you since you and Naoya moved south.”

Masao Inaba grins a lopsided, boyish smile that crinkles his nose. He pushes his beanie out of his face, tucking some hair up under the lip. “Your older brother said you were in San Andreas for at least another week! Was he just trying to make me fuck off?”

“You know he’s blown off anyone from Dukes for months,” Tatsuya asks, which makes Masao laugh a touch too hard.

“C’mon, give him some credit - it’s probably more like years.”

“He’s only on your ass when you deserve it, Inaba. Had to run to Florida to get him off your back.”

“I gotta do what I gotta do, Tatsuya.” Masao pulls his back up a little on his shoulders, shrugging with it. “Glad I ran into you over your brother, though. He _has_ been on our asses - well, Naoya and I - and it’s starting to piss us off.”

_He’s doing something, then,_ Tatsuya muses, following Masao’s first steps towards the fountain beneath the Monoglobe. A family with two young children play near some pigeons, two young girls that giggle and chase them. “How long have you two been back here?”

“A couple of months,” Masao admits. “Florida just got too expensive. Been crashing with Maki for a while.”

“Are they back together?”

“Of course! He’s crazy about her, man.”

“Good for them.” Tatsuya drags his attention back to the yelling children when Masao replies, and he hears him cross his arms. Or reach into his pocket. Who knows.

“Was going to hit you up, but - you moved out of Cerveza, where have you been? Graduated yet?”

“Over a year ago,” Tatsuya replies, which makes Masao laugh again, backing up from him.

“Shit, I didn’t realize I was chatting up an off duty cop! Congrats, man.” Masao makes a face, like he’s trying to hold on to his humourous grin while grimacing. “You starting to become the same kind of bloodhound your brother is?”

“You should only worry about what my brother and I do if you have something to hide, you know.” Tatsuya puts a hand in his pocket, like he’s grabbing for a box - there’s nothing. He forgot to stop by the store.  _ Shit. _

“C’mon, he thinks we’re doing gang shit! You know I’d never, Tatsuya. Honest man, honest living.”

Tatsuya has a hard time imagining Masao in the colours of some of the gangs of the city. Or on a motorcycle at all.

“They dragged Naoya in for  _ questioning _ . Like he’s some murder suspect.” Masao pulls on the bag again, leaning his head back to look up at the sky. “Didn’t arrest him, though. Which is nice. We don’t have the money to bail anyone out.”

Tatsuya wants to say something about the process of bail and the purpose of charges, but he decides against it. He tilts his head while looking at Masao, slowly thinking, considering. “I haven’t heard from you in months, Masao. You’ll have to clue me in on why my brother wants you so badly.”

Masao looks at him. He laughs again. Loudly. “C’mon, I’m not that dumb, I know what you’re asking.”

Tatsuya folds his arms, and stops walking. “The more you talk like that, the more  _ concerned _ I have to be, Inaba.”

He stops walking himself, looking at Tatsuya with an incredulous look - he glances around in disbelief, then scoffs, toying a smirk. “Fine, I hear you. I forget you’re not a punk anymore. You’ve got a  _ badge _ now.”

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Masao opens a messenger app, typing something away with one hand. “Maki’s apartment is over on Brunner Street. Figure you’ll want to see your man of the hour in person before I talk.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’ll take a bit more pity on me if Naoya’s there,” Masao finishes his remark with a wink, and turns to walk. “My number’s the same. I can’t go with you right now, but I’ll see you there. I have some errands to run.”

“What’s in your bag, Inaba?” Tatsuya calls out.

Masao laughs. “My laundry!”


	3. old flames, older friends

Brunner Street isn't that bad of a place to live. It tethers on the cusp between the lower and middle class, but if he's remembering Maki's age right, she's probably just familiar with the college apartments.

The clouds above him look heavy, even as they curl themselves around the midday sun. They lack the dark grey sickness of impending rain, but Tatsuya still guides his bike to sit under a dark green steel roof that hangs over the sidewalk of Brunner Street's more attractive looking buildings.

Which, he notes while staring at a torn poster for some west coast starlet's tour, isn't to any higher standards here.

Removing his helmet, Tatsuya glances up the flank of the building, and tucks the helmet under his arm to wander forward, counting the building's numbers before he stands before something that resembles an apartment building's exterior. He opens the door and steps inside, feeling something he wants to call  _anxiety_ settle in his teeth as he ascends a staircase to the second floor.

 _It's not fear,_ he reminds himself when he steps foot on the open floor. He wonders if Naoya's grown his hair our, or if he stopped matching grey with grey like a boy's school uniform. A young woman on her cellphone walks past Tatsuya, turning to walk down the stairs without any more of a glance towards him. She speaks loudly into the lit up screen of whatever conversation she's having, something about college roommates, while Tatsuya waits by a drab looking apartment door -

It opens with only a few moments between a knock and the silence that follows. Tatsuya's hand is still in the air when he stares Maki Sonomura in the eyes, whose own widen in anticipation of someone else.

" _Tatsuya?_ _"_ her mouth breaks into an incredulous grin as she says his name, reaching forward to take his lowering hand in both of hers to shake it. "How did you know we were here!? I haven't heard from you in so long!"

"Maki," he manages to say, the tension of his shoulders relieving when it isn't Naoya he finds greeting him. He shakes her hand with muted enthusiasm - but when you're reconnecting with a man like Tatsuya, that's the best you can expect. "Met up with Inaba while I was looking for your boyfriend. You're - still together, right?"

"Of course we are," she says with a tug of her hands, pulling him in and reaching forward to hug him close. Maki airkisses the space below his ear, and then holds Tatsuya in a warm embrace from around the shoulders. He can feel her smile pressed against the leather of his jacket, and his one-armed return hug is as earnest as he can manage in the position he's in. Dropping down off her tip-toes and to her posture once more, Maki gives Tatsuya the space to enter the hallway and reaches to close the apartment door behind him.

"Do you want something to drink? Naoya went out a while ago. I can make you some tea, or coffee-"

"Tea," Tatsuya says, walking forward with a curious step towards two open arches - his left leads to the kitchen, and the right into a small living area. He can hear Maki turn into the kitchen behind him, as he sets his helmet on a table close to the room's entrance.

It's small. There's a couch beside him, in front of that table, which holds a lamp in the middle, two photographs of separate families, and an ash tray on the farthest end. The paint on the walls are a drab sea green, though Maki's paintings from highschool and some after line the walls at varying heights. The television impresses him, but everything surrounding it reminds Tatsuya of early 2000s furniture, possibly scourged from their parents' basements and thrift stores. He takes a seat on the middle cushion of the only couch, and notices the coffee table - it has a deep mark down the center's edge.

He remembers that mark from when he was younger. This is the coffee table that once was in Naoya's parent's living room. A coaster with a floral pattern covers a heat stain, created by a too-hot dinner plate Masao Inaba ate off of back in tenth grade.

In the kitchen, he can hear Maki run the sink and catch the water in a kettle.

"You're looking for Naoya, right?"

"Yeah."

"Is there a reason why? Did you call him up recently?"

"I didn't know you two were back here," Tatsuya says, reaching for the cigarettes he bought on the drive over, pausing before he opens the Redwood box and pulls one out. "Am I allowed to smoke in here?"

He can  _hear_ the pause between Maki's breath and the response she was about to speak. "That's fine. Just use the ash tray."

Tatsuya reaches around behind him to pick up the ash tray - he glances down into the bowl and notices a little design, a small smoking devil looks up at him with a blue and white design, grinning deviously as he smokes a little devil-sized cigar. Placing it on the coaster, Tatsuya pulls out his lighter and lights a cigarette. He can hear Maki reaching for mugs in the kitchen.

"I didn't have your number either," she calls to him. "Naoya mentioned he wanted to go see you once, but I take it you two never met up."

"Do you know why?" 

"I don't know. Maybe he just forgot - I promise he'd never  _intentionally_ do that to you, Tatsuya. You two are close."

"Yeah," he muses, leaning back on the couch as Maki comes in with two teacups with a fake china appearance. Two teabag labels hang over the lips, and she places them on two other coasters.

"I'll bring in a plate to put your teabag on. Do you like sugar or milk with your tea?"

"Not really," he admits, sitting up and tapping the ash into the tray. "Thank you."

She smiles, standing up and quickly moving back into the kitchen, where she returns with a rather large plate with the same porcelain appearance, a small pitcher of milk, and a sugar bowl half empty with soft white sugar, a spoon sticking out from within. She takes a seat next to Tatsuya, who moves out of the way and brings the ash tray with him, and prepares her tea, spooning generous amounts of sugar into the murky liquid.

"What brought him back from Florida?" Tatsuya asks, and Maki leans her head to the side, as she pours the milk into her tea.

"I think it was getting too expensive to live down there," she says, stirring her tea. "Masao told me that they had a  _really_ nice apartment in Orlando, and that it was really nice for a while. But they both lost their jobs in 2012, and they started struggling to stay on their feet when they got new jobs."

"Were you two still talking while they were down there?"

"Sometimes. We'd see each other being active on LifeInvader most of the time, but we emailed every so often, too." Maki pauses to take a sip, and Tatsuya mirrors her, drinking the scalding tea for a short sip. It's chamomile. He's impressed that she could tolerate drinking it as anything other than plain. "He definitely started chatting to me more often towards the end of 2013, though. Said he still thought about me, and wondered if I felt the same way."

She looks at Tatsuya with a flirtatious smile. "I told him, _of course_. I missed him a lot, you know. We only broke up because he was moving."

"Good for you," Tatsuya says, taking another sip of his tea, before deciding he doesn't like it after all, putting it back on the table.

"They've only been back for a few months. Again, I promise, they weren't hiding from you or anything."

"I believe you, Maki. I'll just ask him myself."

There's a key, rattling in the door down the hallway. Maki's eyes light up, and Tatsuya's do as well, in their own way. She immediately is up and out of the couch, as Tatsuya muses how he's summoned him - or maybe Masao, depending on if laundry's done or not.

"Keep quiet, I'll lead him here," she says, practically bursting with excitement for the coming reunion. He can hear her socked steps bounding down the wooden floor, and when the door open, a man's voice remarks her in surprise.

"Welcome home, baby!" Maki beams, voice muted with the distance between. "I have a surprise for you!"

Tatsuya adjusts how he sits, arms on his knees. The anticipation sits in his throat again, and he suddenly isn't sure if he should be standing or sitting. If the tea wasn't so bitter, maybe he'd take another sip, calm his nerves as Maki leads her boyfriend down their apartment's hall, tells him to  _don't peek!_ as she leads him forward into the living room, stepping to the side -

"Tatsuya, he's home!"

 


	4. housewarming gift

Naoya Toudou's expression is less than enthusiastic, but not yet marked with too much horror.

They stare at one another. Tatsuya remains seated for a moment longer, as time stalls, and their reunion is as slow as quiet steps over winter roads. Naoya is in a jean jacket with a black shirt beneath, and dark pants that Tatsuya can't identify if they're denim or not - sacrificing grey on grey for denim on denim, which is a fashion crime that Tatsuya is certain might just be worse than the schoolboy look. His hair is just as messy, but about the same cut as he's ever had it as - he's pierced his ear in the years they've spent apart, and when he looks at a bag over his shoulders he can see the callouses from long days of work on Naoya's hands. Is he in shipment? Industrial? Tatsuya could have sworn Naoya told him he wanted to go to business school.

He stands up. Naoya is still taller than Maki, as he's always been, but he looks a little shorter than Tatsuya, even with the distance between them. Tatsuya holds out a hand, and tries for a smile, something short.

"Naoya," he says, "It's been a while."

Naoya's horror wanes when he sees how Tatsuya extends a hand, and he matches it, gripping him tight, respectably, and gives a firm shake. "Tats. Good to see you. Didn't know you knew where I was."

"I was looking for you," Tatsuya replies, "and I ran into Inaba. He gave me your address."

Naoya's expression is now unreadable. Maki looks between the men, and is marked with concern when Naoya looks less than enthusiastic. "Is there something wrong, honey?"

"What?" Naoya looks at her. "No, babe, not at all - Tats, I'm just surprised. I didn't know you wanted to find me."

"Find you?"

"It's been a while, hasn't it? Baby, go into the hall - I want to ask you something."

Nervously, Maki walks into the apartment's hall, rubbing her arm while avoiding the glance of Tatsuya. Naoya retracts his hand, watching Maki move away, and follows her, holding up a hand to Tatsuya to not follow. He leads Maki farther down the hallway until Tatsuya can't see them around the corner, closer to the front door. He doesn't move, but strains to hear - 

_"What happened?"_

_"How did he get here? You just let him in?"_

_"Aren't you friends?"_

_"Maki, don't you remember what I was going to do today?"_

_"Did you have to? I thought we talked about that -"_

_"It's not a matter of what I have or don't have to do, you know that -"_

_"I'm tired of it, Naoya -"_

_"We're not changing the subject -"_

Tatsuya's brow furrows, and against his better judgement, he takes a step forward, standing in the doorway to the hall and living room. Naoya and Maki's profiles face him, and Naoya lifts his head when the shadow casts between Tatsuya and the doorway. Maki follows his gaze, and Naoya goes from holding Maki's shoulders to slipping the bag off his shoulder, suspiciously slouching it towards the door.

"Nothing's wrong here, Tats, you don't need to shadow us -"

"If you don't want me here, you could just tell me, Naoya." Tatsuya steps into the hall, and then leans against the wall, blocking them from the other rooms. He looks up around the hallway as he speaks, observing the other paintings, most certainly from Maki. "You're not really the type to keep secrets, though, because you were always bad at that."

Naoya stands up straight, away from Maki, and turns to fully face Tatsuya, standing between him, the door, Maki, and the bag. "Give me more credit, Tats."

"Is everything alright, Naoya?"

Naoya's mouth presses into a thin line, and like absolute  _clockwork_ , Tatsuya can see him glance back, just a moment, at what sits at his foot. "Inaba brought you here?"

"Told me to come. He seems alright with me here, and Maki is too. Surely, you can tell me just a  _little_."

The pause lingers, and then Naoya bends down to pull the bag up, over his shoulder again. "Where'd you see him?"

"Monoglobe's park. I thought you'd be there." Tatsuya stands up from leaning on the wall, a hand on his hip. "Ended up running into him. He said he was doing his laundry. Was there anything in  _his_ bag that I should be worried about?"

"Tatsuya," Maki suddenly says, and though she watches him with sympathy and concern, he can hear the warning in her words. "Please, I don't want you two to fight."

"We're not going to fight," Naoya reassures her, and with one hand on the bag's strap and another across Maki's back to hold her shoulder, Naoya walks towards Tatsuya and back into the living room. "I'll sit down and tell you, then, before Masao comes back to embellish our stories."

Naoya takes a seat on the single chair to the right of the coffee table, as the other two take their seats where they once were, just minutes before. Maki sits uncomfortably, her posture unnaturally firm, and as Naoya tucks his bag to the side of the couch, she stands, like she's remembered something.

"I don't want to sit here while you two talk about it, Naoya," she admits, and gather the tea set she brought out. "I'll be in our room."

Naoya reaches towards her, sitting up straight again. "Maki -"

"It's fine," she reassures, rushing herself as she steps out. She goes to place the tea set on the kitchen table, and then only looks back into the living room to linger her gaze on Tatsuya. "It was nice seeing you again, Tatsuya."

He has barely enough time to lift a hand to wave goodbye when she turns and bounds down the hallway, the door opening and then snapping shut. Naoya slouches back in his chair, sighing, looking down at the foot of the couch.

"I don't want to upset her like that."

"What's got her upset, then?"

Naoya glances up at him with his eyes only, wariness setting back into him again. "I want you to know I'm not avoiding talking about it because it's you, Tats. I trust you. It's because..."

Tatsuya mirrors him, leaning back into the couch with his hands in his lap. "Is it because I'm a cop?"

Naoya nods.

"Are you selling drugs, Naoya?"

He nods again.

Tatsuya takes a deep breath, and holds it in his throat. Among the force, individually, each officer holds their own opinions on the legal state of Liberty City - any man, any woman, in any work force, functions just as that. Perhaps there are homogeneous groups in the city who believe in a single force, or a single moral, something to uphold as blindly as a snowstorm in December for better or for worse - drug control being just the same.

Tatsuya, Naoya and Masao all smoked some things back in high school, maybe once or twice. Neither seemed caught up in the scene, either. Perhaps its the badge that serves to virtue signal, but Tatsuya has considered himself open minded. Maybe it comes with being raised by Katsuya. It's the legal issue that catches him, after all. 

"Just tell me you're not gunning for Proposition 208."

Naoya laughs, just a little. "That's in San Andreas, Tats."

Tatsuya looks at him, narrowing his eyes. "Is that what's in your bag?"

"I want you to know something, first." Naoya leans forward, dragging the bag in front of him and placing it between his feet, as confident about it as he can manage to be. "I'm not hooked on it. Neither is Maki, neither is Masao. We're completely sober. It's not our product."

"Is that meant to make it better?"

"We're indebted, Tatsuya," he retorts, finally looking him in the eye for the first time since staring him down in the doorway. "Masao and I - we're working for a guy that we don't want to be working for, alright? And he has us helping him, which involves selling his product."

Tatsuya looks at him, stern and harsh, and then down at the bag. It's a duffel bag type, and he can tell just from the shape and brand that it's not a scent preventing bag you'll find in smoke shops. He can't smell anything - might not be weed, or not enough of it to permeate through a bag. Is it coke? Heroin? God, it better not be fucking heroin.

"We've been with him since Florida," Naoya continues, and even when staring at the bag, Tatsuya can see him clench his fists. "And it's half why we came up here. The guy uprooted from Orlando, and we moved up here."

"And this is why my brother arrested you last week."

"He didn't arrest me. He asked me to come in, and I said yes." Naoya leans back, his left foot tapping near the bag. "Your brother  _really_ isn't the type to kick doors in, you know."

"I can't imagine he'd ever be," Tatsuya says, "Especially since it's N.O.O.S.E who does coke busts, not my brother."

He looks up from the bag, finally, to look at Naoya, his jaw set and teeth clenched together behind a closed mouth. Tatsuya sighs, and reaches for the cigarette he left in the ash tray, taking a long drag, longer than he needs to, before setting it back down and exhaling.

"Inaba said he wanted me to talk to you," he says, leaning back in the couch and lifting his head towards the ceiling, eyes closed. "Because he said I'd pity him more."

"Really."

"He was right. I  _do_ pity you. I guess it could be worse - you could be addicted and selling it."

"You couldn't pay me to do this shit at this point. I'm as sick of it as you'd hope me to be."

"Sure." Tatsuya looks towards him, and then digs into his pocket, pulling out a slip of black leather. Leaning up, Tatsuya hangs it open, revealing his police badge for Naoya to see. If he was there for Tatsuya's graduation over a year ago, he'd have gotten to see it a lot sooner.

Naoya's jaw tightens again.

Tatsuya takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. "You want me to take pity on you?"

Naoya says nothing.

"Look at my badge, Naoya."

The leather snaps shut, and though he doesn't see him, Naoya's eyes widen just a little. Tatsuya raises his hand like he's taking an oath, and in the darkness behind his eyes, he can see his brother staring at him.

"I'm promising not to tell my brother, my boss, or any officer I associate with, about what you've said, and I am going to instead get rid of the man you're working for."

When he opens his eyes, Naoya is staring at him, incredulous, and mystified, stunned with disbelief - yet also, in all of that, he is caught in relief, seeming to exhale and fall down in his lap a little more. Naoya leans back, resting into the armchair, and Tatsuya mirrors him, leaning into the couch and tucking the badge back into his coat, hidden from sight.

"That's -" Naoya breathes in again, and exhales. "Thank you. It's - I'll work with you."

Tatsuya shrugs a little. "You didn't confess in writing, anyway. Guess I have no proof."

"Sure," Naoya says, with a coughed laugh with that. "You'd have - never mind. How will I work with you? How will  _we_ work, since Masao's taking his time dragging his ass back home."

"We'll figure it out," Tatsuya says, reaching for his cigarette once more, inhaling it in and tapping ash down on the little devil's face. "once he gets back here, at least. Were you going somewhere later with that?"

He points the cigarette towards the bag between Naoya's legs, and he shakes his head. "This was for tomorrow. We're bringing it to a buyer in Bohan."

"Sounds like your boss has quite the hold on the city," Tatsuya says, and Naoya smiles, just a little.

"Mostly just Bohan and north Broker. It's just the guy, though."

"What's his name?"

"Chris, but I know more than just that." Naoya stands up out of his arm chair, and the tension in him seems to roll down his body. "Masao and I will get you caught up. I'll text him while I..."

Naoya glances towards the doorway, but seems to stare more towards the corner of the wall, and Tatsuya understands before he even speaks. "I'm going to go cheer her up. I think she was worried you were going to arrest me."

Tatsuya nods. "Take your time. We have all the time in the world 'til Inaba gets here."

Naoya goes to leave the room, but takes pause as he steps through the doorway. "Tatsuya - thank you. This  _does_ mean a lot."

Tatsuya finishes the cigarette, pinching the orange paper and inhaling deep to get the final drag as it burns to cinders. "It'll be a funny story to tell your kid some day.  _Daddy helped Uncle Tats bust a drug dealer._ "

"While leaving out a bit more details, of course," Naoya says, a grin bright on his face as he turns down the hall. Tatsuya is left to the remnants of his Redwood, and the gentle if distant roll of thunder outside, and the patter of raindrops on the window facing the Humboldt River.


	5. gas chamber blues

“Dude, you just fucking _told him?_ You didn’t even wait for me!”

“How the fuck was I going to make him just wait for you, _huh?_ Tell him you’re jerking off in a fucking laundromat?”

“I wanted to hear you tell him! I was like, ‘how’s he gonna tell the story?’ You could have held him hostage until I got back, or something!”

“Hold a cop hostage, yeah, that’s a fucking _genius_ plan, what else do you have for me?”

Masao’s reintroduction had been less than pleasant when he walked through the front door, backpack heavy and warm with freshly washed clothes, as he was immediately prevented from entering the apartment by an irritated Naoya, who currently keeps him cornered against the front door. Maki has rejoined Tatsuya in the living room with another cup of tea and bowl of instant soup, staring past the television now turned on to a reality show. Tatsuya believes she might be normally incredibly invested in the affairs of the young stars and over dramatic music were her roommates not arguing in the hallway.

Or, perhaps, if he wasn’t here.

“They do this often?” he asks, terse and uncertain. Maki sighs.

“Not really.” She leans into the couch, bringing her knees up and tucking them under her, reclining with her cup of tea. “I just don’t like to hear Naoya raise his voice. I feel bad when he does.”

“Not your fault you didn’t just kick me out in the first place,” Tatsuya tries, voice a little more lighter than he’d normally offer someone. The effect he has on her seems to relax her shoulders, and Maki turns her head from her distant observation of the television show to look at him, a little bit more focused. Distantly, the voices of Naoya and Masao seem to humble themselves, and the two men begin to engage in low whispering.

“If he wasn’t bringing the garbage in, I think he’d have been a lot more happier,” she reflects, taking a sip of her sweetened tea. “Do you want me to change the channel?”

“Isn’t this Fame or Shame?” Maki raises her brow with a devilish smirk, and Tatsuya rolls his eyes with as good intentions as he can. “What? It’s a popular show.”

She giggles. “I like watching the auditions, mostly. They did them for this season just last fall.”

“This show is garbage, Maki.”

“No it isn’t! It’s funny to watch the judges fail them!”

“Isn’t it all rigged, anyway? Most of the winners are chosen by the first round robin.”

“Not true! Rise Kujikawa started her career on it two years ago, and she’s in movies now!”

“I thought it was a show about _singing_.”

Naoya silently leans himself into the living room, catching Maki’s attention first and causing Tatsuya to turn his head back. He can spot Masao slipping into a bedroom he presumes to be his, backpack held in front of him by a strap and hanging open, spilling out with clothes.

“Hey,” he looks at Tatsuya, “How did you get down here?”

“My bike,” Tatsuya replies, gesturing toward the black helmet on the table behind the couch. “Why?”

“Is it the same one from high school?”

“ _Yes?_ ” Tatsuya’s brow, already furrowed, seems to intensify. “Why? Is something wrong with it?”

“I saw a dude messin’ with it outside!” Masao calls from his bedroom, “Figured it was yours! Wanted to let you know, Suou!”

Tatsuya is off the couch and pushing past Naoya before either Naoya or Maki have time to respond, swiping his helmet off the table and storming down the hall in a burst of energy. Maki paces to the window, asking _“is he going to be ok?”_ aloud as Naoya turns to follow, the curious call of Masao falling to ignorant ears.

* * *

 

The rain, though light, immediately batters against Tatsuya’s bare hair when he opens the building’s front, stomping through shallow puddles with his helmet gripped in one hand. His arm swings with his long strides, and raises the helmet up with righteous anger at the punk touching his motorcycle - who Masao neglected to mention had blue hair and a guitar case over his shoulder.  
Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Naoya, with an arm half in his raincoat’s sleeve, steps up behind him right as Eikichi Mishina turns and raises his arm to cower from the helmet raised high above his almost-attackers head. “Hey, hey! Slow down, baby! You’d break such a pretty face?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tatsuya yells out, dropping his arm down and stepping forward to shove Eikichi’s hands off of his motorcycle, which shakes from the rough handling.

“I knew this little tyke toy had to be your pride and joy, Tatsuya! C’mon, give Michel a hug, you didn’t bother to call when you came home!”

Naoya’s voice is distant when Eikichi’s arms forcibly wrap around Tatsuya’s body, muffled by rain and limbs, but it sounds like he says _“I can’t imagine why.”_

“I got a _gig_ down here, baby!” Eikichi manages to somehow rub his cheek against Tatsuya’s head in the one-sided embrace.

“I didn’t ask.” Tatsuya pushes his stupidly tall body off of him with the brunt of the helmet, earning a pained huff from Eikichi’s willowed form.

“I thought you’d be happy for me, s’all! The ungrateful boys of Gas Chamber had me hook us up on my wholesome lonesome, and I, the _beautiful, illustrious, tantalizing-_ ”

“Eikichi, shut up-”

“ _-Charming, hirsute-_ ”

“Hirsute?” Naoya interrupts, “You’re like a thirty year old twink.”

His observation draws an offended scoff from the blue haired devil, who yanks a hand on his shouldered guitar case to fix the strap. “My body is immaculate and baby-fucking-soft, you no-name! _Hirsute_ means _angelic_ , my boy Haruo told me so!”

Naoya stares at Tatsuya, incredulous. “You know this goon?”

“We’re friends,” he responds, rubbing the back of his hand against his face to make sure none of Eikichi’s makeup found its way on to his skin. “Met him when you moved.”

“Tatsu-baby and I go way back, like, _throwback_ style!” Eikichi takes several steps past Tatsuya to meet Naoya. Both stand an impressive height, even greater than Tatsuya himself - who is busying himself with inspecting his motorcycle, the three of them free from the coming rain under the green awning. “And _you_ are, if Michel was to guess… oh, Tatsu- _darling,_ this is your boy who moved to Texas, right?”

“Florida,” Naoya clarifies.

“No sweat, baby! Michel’s gotta learn his geography if he’s set up to be a national star!”

Tatsuya stands up from his motorcycle, pushing on Eikichi’s shoulder to catch his attention again. “Why are you here? You had an interview down _here?_ You live up in Dukes.”

“And? Future high rollers still gotta start somewhere! Came down here, and wouldn’t it happen that Michel doesn’t have his wallet to pay for Lyft! Saw that bad girl, and was figuring out if it was yours! Chances be like that sometimes!”

“Can you speak clearly for once?”

“Give me a ride, boy!”

Tatsuya looks down into his helmet to break eye contact with Eikichi’s blistering blue, before slipping it over his head, voice muffled to mask the heaving sigh. “The passenger helmet’s in the back.”

“Tatsu-baby, why haven’t you gotten a real car yet?” Eikichi laments, sitting himself on the motorcycle’s back seat once Tatsuya mounts the front. He lifts the helmet with a malcontent, leaning back as far as he can without falling off. “I’m _thankful,_ of course! But come on, you gotta stop with the punk-boy shit! I can’t go around getting my beautiful hair messed up because you won’t drive a car!”

Naoya looks like he’s about to say something - possibly what Tatsuya’s thinking, about chauffeuring wannabe rock stars - but he doesn’t, folding his arms and leaning on the corner of the building instead. He watches Tatsuya start his bike, and ignores Eikichi putting on the helmet, who continues to lament that his beautiful, beautiful hair was going to get flattened.

“Tatsuya,” he calls, and Tatsuya turns his head, looking at him through the black visor. “We’re still on for tomorrow, right?”

Tatsuya nods his head, makes a ‘call-me’ gesture with his hand, and revs the bike’s engine. It roars to life as Tatsuya kicks it forward, passing his newly-reborn friend and his apartment, turning down the length of Brunner Street.

* * *

Traffic is light, but the rain starts coming down harder (”Aw, damn it! My _clothes!_ ”) and echoes off the exterior of Tatsuya’s helmet. Eikichi mercifully silences himself for a period of time - possibly mildly gagged by the inside of the helmet - and leaves Tatsuya with the roll of cars around him and the hum of his engine. Eikichi tightens his hold around Tatsuya’s waist when they turn a particular sharp corner with no traffic light to stop them, but Tatsuya doesn’t listen to whatever complaining Eikichi decides to vocalize.

They get stuck behind a grey Blista Compact on Montauk Avenue while approaching another intersection. The rain rolls down his helmet and down into his jacket when Eikichi finally says something loud enough for Tatsuya to hear. “Your Florida buddy, huh? What’s his name?”

“Naoya Toudou,” Tatsuya manages to call out over the patter of rain and the buzz of the Blista’s engine. “High school.”

“How come you never went to hang out with him when he moved back? Why’d you never introduce us?” Eikichi leans a little closer to the back of Tatsuya’s head, shouting through the helmet to be as clear as possible. He’s never learnt that he doesn’t need to shout with the helmet on, but Tatsuya figures he yells all of the other time that it’s not much different.

At least Eikichi thinks he’s unable to speak half the time it’s on. That’s always a bonus.

“Didn’t talk to me,” Tatsuya responds, leaning forward to focus on the road, as well as distance himself from Eikichi’s mouth. He notes the Broker-Dukes Expressway hanging over the road, and drives down Cerveza to spare himself from the rain.

“Sounds like a shitty friend, baby! Whatchu doing around a guy like that? Won’t even talk to his old buddy!”

“Guess he’s been busy,” he says again, and the muffled, muted shade to his words keeps Eikichi silent until they roll into a more familiar neighbourhood, roads down from Tatsuya’s own house but right in front of Eikichi’s apartment. Tatsuya rolls close to the curb and kicks a foot down when the bike is slow enough, and shoulders Eikichi off of him, who happily frees himself from the torment of road safety.

“Oh, save me! I don’t wanna suffocate in that any longer!” Eikichi drops the helmet into the passenger compartment, wiping rainwater and sweat from his brow. “Really, Tatsu-baby, the second Gas Chamber makes it big, Michel’s buying you your own Turismo. You’d look sexy as fuck rolling up on the job in a red beauty!”

Tatsuya pushes up the visor on his helmet, sitting up straight in the seat. “We only have the one car spot in the garage, Eikichi. I get to park in the bike spot, and it’s cheaper.”

“ _And?_ You just got told Michel’s gonna take care of you! I’ll get that parking spot covered!”

“You better cover gas for all of these lifts, too,” he chides him, and Eikichi laughs - notably nervously, as he takes steps back toward the front steps of the apartment. It’s hard to see Tatsuya’s mouth move with the helmet in the way, so he smirks.

“We gotta hit those stars first, you know!” Eikichi finally turns away, waving back to Tatsuya. “Thanks for the ride, baby! And give Ginko a call, now that you’re back!”

  
Tatsuya pretends not to hear him as he pushes the visor back down, kicks off the curb, and feels the roar of his bike’s engine waking up.

* * *

 

“Welcome home.” 

Katsuya looks up from the coffee table to acknowledge him, but Tatsuya doesn’t see him as he removes the helmet, shaking water from his hair.

“Hey,” the younger brother responds, running a hand through damp red locks. “Thought you’d be at work.”

“I’m doing work, yes.” Katsuya leans over to one of the end tables by the couch, taking a sip of a fountain pop paper cup from what Tatsuya can only presume was his lunch.

“Just reflecting on something we got today. Did you do what I asked you to do?”

Tatsuya is taking off his jacket, and only freezes for a moment - he feigns ignorance to give himself a few more seconds, and then stares at the wall of jackets and coats inside their shared shoe closet in revelation.

“Tatsuya?”

“What?”

“Did you find Naoya Toudou?”

“Yeah. Met him in Meadows Park. I figured he’d be there instead.”

He _did_ do what he was asked. Perhaps not to the moral degree that Katsuya asked of him, however.

“That’s good,” Katsuya responds, glancing up at Tatsuya when he crosses in front of the television, volume turned low while Weazel News broadcasters narrate over some woman standing in front of a building in Algonquin. “What did you ask him? Were you honest with him?”

Tatsuya nods, but doesn’t look at Katsuya, occupying himself with looking through the mail on the kitchen island, close to the table Katsuya is at. The mail has already been sorted, but his brother doesn’t seem to notice his hands rustling over envelopes absently. “Honest about wanting to ask questions? Yeah. He didn’t know much. I told you he wasn’t involved.”

Katsuya makes some sort of disappointed sound. Quickly, Tatsuya adds - “But - he had a friend that he was concerned about, who knows Chris.”

He can hear Katsuya look up. “Really? He held that information from me.”

“Probably because he doesn’t know you the way he knows me.”

“What’s the friend’s name?”

Tatsuya looks over at a magazine on the counter. It’s a business magazine, and some British entrepreneur smiles up at him on the cover, named -

“Mark,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Katsuya. His brother’s expression is unreadable, especially at the distance between them. He lingers on his expression, staring Katsuya through, who then looks back down at the notebook in front of him.

“Mark,” he repeats. “That’s enough to be interested in. I’ll pass what I have about Chris off to you. Email Shiori for what she has, as well - she’ll probably want to work with you on this, but you don’t have to.”

Tatsuya nods, though he doesn’t believe his brother notices. Slowly, he reaches over to the magazine, and flips it open to a random page without the entrepreneur’s face on it. He takes out his phone and taps for the email application, and bites the inside of his cheek as he searches for Shiori Miyashiro’s email address. He navigates toward his bedroom and closes the door.

His cheek remains pressed between his teeth, and he chews on it, the spike of anxiety firm in his throat. He types a message to Shiori, automatic and absentminded - requesting the dossier takes a bit more typing that he often puts forth, and Tatsuya is _very_ thankful his brother cannot see the relief wash over him to calm the apprehension that seizes him.

Tatsuya quickly opens his texting app next, walking toward his bed while searching for Naoya’s new number.

_it’s tatsuya. do you want me at your place tomorrow?_

A response comes quickly. _Na, drive to Dillon Street, in Schottler. There’s a hardware store, that’s where we’re going._ Tatsuya nods at nothing in particular, and responds to Naoya’s message with a thumbs up emoticon.

He takes a seat on his bed, biting down on his lower lip and brings a hand up to his mouth, pressing the flat of his fingers against it, like drawing for a cigarette. He takes a solid deep breath in, holding it for a few moments to settle the nerves wracked up speaking to his brother. Dropping his phone into the duvet on his bed, Tatsuya brings his legs up on to the mattress and lays down, staring at the handle of his suitcase that has yet to be unpacked.

It took a day for him to rediscover Naoya and uncover what he’s been doing.

Tatsuya doesn’t feel tired, but he still closes his eyes and rolls over, sitting in the darkness behind his eyes.


	6. man of the hour

Shiori Miyashiro’s email comes the following morning. As Tatsuya expects, it has nothing new that Tatsuya didn’t already know, though it notably mentions the activity of both Broker and Bohan. With it came a morning message from Naoya, the only one he had hear from him since last night’s exchange - _be armed_.

The warning had not done anything to help Tatsuya’s growing apprehension about bothering to listen to his story and reach out to his friend.

Rain had continued well into the dark of the evening the day prior, and had left deep puddles for Tatsuya to roll through while riding down streets into Schottler. The crawl of the city’s wealth from middle- to lower-class business fronts and brownstones was noticeable, especially when Tatsuya lingers behind a white Perennial van that has seen better days. Carefully, he keeps an eye out for the hardware store, drumming his gloved hands on the handlebars of his motorcycle.

There’s one building, but it’s closed. Tatsuya scans the street - there’s an electronics store on the other side of the street, but that’s not the one that Naoya meant, is it?

Then - there is a familiar yellow hat, and when he spots the lopsided grin of Masao Inaba glancing down at his phone, Tatsuya kicks down his bike’s stand and dismounts it. His hands lift up toward his helmet, when he takes note of a police cruiser that rolls past him, its drivers focusing on the road and not the pedestrian role that Tatsuya had taken.

He holds his tongue between his teeth for a moment beneath the helmet, and then lowers his hands. He probably should keep it on.

Masao recognizes him before he’s even done crossing the street - he stays in place as the helmeted Tatsuya approaches him, and waves a little at him when he stops.

“Lookin’ dark and mysterious,” he says, slouching off the wall and pocketing his phone. “Naoya’s around back, let’s head in.”

“You sure it’s not that one?” Tatsuya asks as they begin to round the building, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to the electronics shop across the street.

“Nah - this place closed back in 2009, and the guy who owns it has been using it as a gambling place.” Naoya walks by his side, hands slipped into his pockets. “Deal’s going down here. You get Naoya’s text?”

“Yeah.”

“The boss told you to send that. You’re gonna get to meet him - pretty exciting. Yo!”

Once around the corner, Tatsuya is met by Naoya and a second individual - a man sitting on the roof of a black Hakumai, who slides off when Masao approaches him. He’s a tall man, though doesn’t meet Tatsuya’s height; his hair is black, thick and curly and reaching his shoulders, and his face reminds Tatsuya of an angry bird. He’s wearing a purple suit with little effort put into its appearance, the shirt not tucked into his pants and his cuff links undone.

“Who’s this joker?” the man, who Tatsuya can only presume is the ‘boss’ Masao referred to, asks with a familiar smoker’s cough to his words.

“He’s a friend,” Naoya replies, “the one I told you would be coming.”

“The helmet a part of your getup?” Chris, with his hands on his hips, glances down the leather of Tatsuya’s biker uniform, and then up at his black helmet, neck craned and posture slouching back. “What am I going to call you?”

“He’s, uh, Jacket, boss-” Masao starts, and Chris turns to glare at him.

“I don’t give a shit what his name is. I’m calling him Joker, ‘cause his dumbass coat makes me laugh. You got it, Joker?”

"Hm."

“Toudou told you to be armed, right? I told him to tell you that. Show me where it is, ‘cause I won’t let you pull a fast one on me.”

Tatsuya reaches into the confines of his jacket, and pulls out a pistol, safety pressed. He holds it up, barrel to the bright sky, and allows Chris to examine it, the way he’d pull it from his coat, the hand he uses it from…

Personally, Tatsuya’s impressed at the precautions.

“Alright,” Chris then says, nods his head to make Tatsuya put the gun away. “I’m not telling you that you’re not going to have to use it, ‘cause you will. You’ve shot it before, Joker?”

Tatsuya nods.

“You ever killed a man?”

Another nod, and Chris grins.

“You found yourself a bad boy, haven’t you, Toudou?” he looks over his shoulder at Naoya, who guards the front door, arms crossed. Naoya doesn’t react, and Chris’ grin remains even as he looks back to Tatsuya. “Reiji Kido - you do well, I might care enough to ask your real name. Take the safety off before you get inside.”

Chris - now Reiji - rounds to the front face of the car, lifting the duffel bag that Naoya carried into his apartment yesterday. He holds it over his shoulder, and looks at Tatsuya and Masao.

“Inside’s Hiroki Sugimoto and his boys - they think they’re buyin’ from us. You put bullets in their chests after we make the exchange, alright?”

Tatsuya nods his head once more, but Masao looks to Reiji sheepishly. “Am I going to take ‘em out too or do the exchange again, boss?”

“The exchange. You’re a big kid, Inaba, I know you won’t shit yourself this time.”

Masao’s frown is almost pathetic, as he steps forward and Reiji shoulders the duffel bag off to the smaller man. Reiji looks to Naoya, who nods and leans off he door of the back entrance. Silently, Reiji beckons Tatsuya and Masao with him, and the four men enter inside.

The immediate back room that the enter is dusty and filled with old junk on several shelves, relics of the 90s stuffed into boxes and left to rot - unsold when the building liquidated its assets, certainly. When Reiji leads them into the former storefront, there is an old cash register display that separates them from a room with three steel tables. Several men rise up from their seats, with one lone man already standing. His hair dyed a bright orange that is receding back into black around the roots, he looks Reiji up and down with his arms folded.

“Hiroki Sugimoto, I presume.” Reiji gestures toward him, and the rather short man huffs.

“You’re lookin’ at him,” he replies, looking at Masao - specifically, his bag. “How much were you talkin’ again? You’re coverin’ for this connection shit, you know.”

“Fifteen grand,” Reiji says, while stepping to the side and gesturing Masao forward, while keeping eye on Hiroki - who, in turn, seems to scoff and look at one of his bodyguards. “I’ll shave a couple hundred off the bill if you’re that bitter you’re playing mailman.”

“Couple hundred? You think I’m living off a fucking tip jar?” Hiroki takes a step forward to meet Masao, only grabbing the bag when the man on his right follows, and holds forward a nondescript, aged briefcase. “Give me that. You’re fucking nuts if you think we’re just saving cash from the bill, Chris. If you’re givin’ us ‘a couple hundred’, you’re payin’ it out of your pocket.”

“No dice,” Reiji says, and his hand only reaches his hip when Tatsuya pulls out his own pistol, and fires directly through the furthest bodyguard from the back door.

Immediately, Masao rips the briefcase out of the other man’s hands, who reaches for his own gun before Naoya takes a shot into the side of his head. Tables overturn to shield themselves from the bullets, but the immediate jump from Reiji, Tatsuya and Naoya downs several men before steel meets concrete and the fire fight can be exchanged.

Hiroki pulled the bag up to shield himself when bullets fire, and Reiji misses putting one through his skull when he ducks down behind the duffel bag. He drops to the ground and swings himself around a steel table while shouting “You fucking rats!” with one of his men firing back. All four men duck down and take aim from behind the store front display, glass shattering when pistol bullets pierce through. Masao ducks past the display and into the back room, sheltered by Naoya so he may hide the briefcase and pull out his own weapon.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Hiroki shouts, and his protector drops to a bullet in his shoulder, clutching the wound and muffling a shriek when he hits the ground. “You know who I fucking work for?!”

 _“I’ll send him your fucking skull after I use it as a soccer ball!_ ” Reiji roars over another round into the overturned table, hearing the heaving cry of agonized pain as the unnamed strongman bleeds by Hiroki “Your boys are fucking dead, now stand up! Get the fuck up!”  
Swinging from out of cover, Naoya and Tatsuya keep their guns aimed on the dying, or otherwise dead, men of Hiroki’s, while Reiji rounds the bullet-marked table and points his pistol at Hiroki, whose hands are up.

“I ain’t done nothing to you, you rat bitch!” Hiroki spits up at him, leaning back on to the ground when Reiji leans forward. “You fucking scumbag!”

“That bastard whose paying you - save a nice comfy spot for him in hell,” Reiji hisses, and pulls the trigger with uninhibited ease.

Hiroki Sugimoto’s body drops to the floor, blood splattering back on the concrete in a disgusting mist. Reiji grabs the bag of product and hoists it over his shoulder, looking back to his backup. “Inaba - Inaba, you _puss,_ you got the payment?”

“I ain’t a puss!” Masao calls out, raising the hand with a smoking gun in it, and the briefcase at his foot. “I had to - yeah, yeah, it’s here, I got it.”

Reiji makes several short steps toward the storefront, peering through the boarded up windows of the gambling den. At his foot, there is the groan of a dying man, but he pays no attention. “Don’t think there’s anyone waiting for us…”

He turns and quickly makes his way to the back, and leads the three men out of the building. “Get that in the back of the car, Inaba. Joker - how’d you get here? You walked?”

“Motorcycle,” Tatsuya responds.

“I was genuinely hoping that helmet was a getup,” Reiji says while looking back, rolling his eyes. “We’re driving to Boone, follow our car - unless Toudou likes you enough to ride shotgun on your bike.”

“And leave your ass in Masao’s hands?” Naoya asks, earning sharp glares from Masao and Tatsuya, for two very different reasons.

“You’ve won me over - get in the car, Toudou.”

Breaking into a run to hurry to his bike, Tatsuya leaps on to it and kicks the bike to life as pedestrians stare at the helmeted man, murmurs already beginning at the sounds that came from inside the hardware store. Tatsuya veers to the side of the road as Reiji speeds out from the side of the building, cutting past Tatsuya and narrowly missing him.  
Tatsuya shall forever remain grateful he turned to look for oncoming traffic, because he immediately veered toward the pavement and away from an incoming Vigero that smashed into a parked car trying to run him over.

He immediately drives forward, down the sidewalk to get around several parked cars and leaping back on to the road, the engine roaring as he catches up a distance behind Reiji’s car. Tatsuya keeps his eye on the mirror and sees the car swerve around a car to reach his trail again. In the same moment, the wireless connection between his phone and the speaker in his helmet rings to life, and Tatsuya manages to spare himself a chance to tap the side and answer the phone, immediately met with Naoya’s voice.

_“It’s backup - Sugimoto may have planned, Reiji’s pissed-”_

_“I don’t give a shit, Naoya!”_ Tatsuya shouts into the receiver, cutting around another parked car and ducking from what sounds like a bullet missing his head. “Cover for me so I don’t get _shot!”_

Ahead, the window rolls down, and Naoya’s body hangs out the side, gun in hand. Screams and cries of horror whip past Tatsuya’s head as nothing by background noise, gunfire louder than any horrified civilian he narrowly avoids with the bulk of his bike. He keeps his body low to the shape of his motorcycle, weaving back and forth to create a serpentine path for the furious gunmen of the now late Hiroki Sugimoto to try and follow. Naoya fires back at the car behind Tatsuya, and calls into his phone - _“We’re turning right!”_

Following his orders, Tatsuya sharply turns when Reiji does as well, dragging into the intersection and immediately noticing the light is red. The traction of his motorcycle’s wheels catches the road better than the car behind him, and Tatsuya races down the length of road while the gunmen veer farther into traffic than he had, yet furiously do not crash into any vehicles. Someone behind him screams something, but he can’t hear anything but the bullets and Naoya shouting into his ear. A bullet from ahead sharply cuts past Tatsuya’s helmet, and he hears the sharp crack of glass shattering when the headlight bursts.

_“I’m going for their tires, snake to the left so I can get it!"_

Responding to orders, Tatsuya veers toward the left of the road, spotting the car matching his trail following in pursuit, and then dodges right at the right moment before a flurry of submachine bullets pierce his tires. Several from ahead cross to the concrete road, missing the underside of the car until the final shot, and even Tatsuya can hear the bursting rubber and the peculiar sound of a loose tire smacking against the road. The car does not relent in its pursuit.

Tatsuya steals a glance into his mirror once more, weaving away from the aim of another torrent of bullets. In his ear, Naoya tells him, _“We’re turning right up here, we might lose them that way.”_

“I have a better idea,” Tatsuya mutters. Ahead, Reiji cuts a corner and narrowly misses taking a pedestrian with him when he rolls over the sidewalk, and Tatsuya imagines whoever the driver of this car to be bracing to follow. Leaning forward to focus on the road, Tatsuya comes to the intersection, and immediately swerves to the left, wheels screeching against the road as he misses the V-shaped crosswalk at the peak of a smokes’ shop.

Caught off guard from the change of direction, Tatsuya manages to spot the driver panic and turn the wheel through the windshield, but the torn wheel does little more than turn the car as it continues to veer straight, and smashes into the storefront. Glass from windows alike erupt into the street on impact, the crunch of metal into stone and bone snapping marked with the final screams of terrified civilians. Smoke billows from the damage hood of the Vigero, and airbags burst from their compartments to shield the bodies inside. Whether or not the men are still alive or died on impact, Tatsuya can’t tell - and even though the badge in his wallet burns something fierce, he knows he can’t check.

Quickly, before any civilian can take note of his bike or call for uniforms, he straightens his bike and drives up the road, exhaling into his bluetooth receiver.

 _“Tats! You alright?”_ Naoya calls out, and Tatsuya keeps a few more moments to catch his breath before responding.

“Yeah.” The neighbourhood he rolls through, though somewhat rocked by the murmurs of a crowd starting to walk down to the crash, is far more quiet, even with the blood in his ears. “Guess you could hear it. I’m fine, not a scratch.”

 _“Why’d you make the getaway vehicle your motorcycle?”_ Even in the wake of the most exhilarating chase Tatsuya has experienced, Naoya can find a moment to laugh, just a little. _“Your rock star buddy is right, should get yourself a real car if we’re doing this…”_

“Well, until you and Eikichi save up and buy me something, I guess this is what I’m stuck with,” Tatsuya retorts, though not without humour of his own. “You still heading to the house?”

_“It’s just a few blocks down from where you should be. There’s a garage, your bike can go in there.”_

“Good,” Tatsuya says, feeling relief wash down his shoulders.

* * *

 

“You looked so _cool_ on your bike,” Masao laughs, “When you slid down the road like that - you looked like the guy from that movie! What was it again-?”

Masao fluttering around Tatsuya would normally sharpen his irritation like a knife on the whetstone, but after pulling into the brownstone’s driveway and tucking his motorcycle into the garage, Tatsuya felt too exhausted to bat the shorter man away, allowing him to shadow his movements as he entered the doorway and walked into a kitchen that, for belonging to a drug runner, looked to be in decent condition.

“Where’s our guy?” he asks Naoya, who is leaning against the refrigerator, drinking bottled water and gazing out the window overlooking the kitchen sink.

“Living room,” Naoya says, gesturing to the archway that leads into a larger room with two old couches and a television. The television is on and set to the news, with reporters already flooding Dillon Street and discussing the chase through Broker.

Tatsuya, after declining a water bottle by Naoya, leads himself in, leaving Masao in the kitchen, and approaches Reiji. Reiji lounges back on the ugly coloured couch, briefcase opened on the cushion and counting the money he had so gracefully relieved the deceased Hiroki of. Tatsuya tries not to think about the implication of helping a drug runner like him, and reaches for his helmet, before remembering the appearance he had to keep. Reiji notices he’s there, anyway, and grins back at Tatsuya.

“Look who it is,” he remarks, turning back to the wad of bills in his hands, as a reporter Tatsuya could swear he recognized explained the suggested theories already created surrounding the chase. “I have to tell you, Joker - I ain’t see moves that slick before. You really have done this before, haven’t you?”  
Without much else to say, Tatsuya nods.

“You’re allowed to sit, if you want. Just don’t put your feet up.” Reiji marks his words by lifting his own feet on to the coffee table. A deck of playing cards, still boxed, get nudged by his feet. Behind the visor, Tatsuya looks at them. “I suppose you taking the heat while on a bike gives you a bit of credit. Where’d Toudou find you?”

"We’re old friends,” Tatsuya says while taking a seat on the smaller couch, crammed against the wall. He turns his gaze toward the kitchen, where Naoya seems to be in discussion with Masao about something.

“How far back do you two go?”

“High school."

“Seems you two don’t talk much - bet he’s told you all about how I met him in Florida.

“Only that,” he admits, leaning forward on to his knees. “Wasn’t the type before meeting you to do this sort of stuff.”

“Car chases or murder?” Reiji places the stack back into the briefcase, and pulls out another to count.

“Drugs, mostly.”

“Florida changes you.” Then, Reiji laughs, leaning against the arm of his seat. “I’m joking. It’s a job, nothing more. We all have to make ends meet.”

“I suppose it could always be worse,” Tatsuya replies, keeping his eyes on the kitchen.

“You looking for some more work? You’ll get your cut whether or not.”  
Tatsuya bites his tongue, light enough to keep himself from saying anything initially. He watches Naoya elbow Masao, who grins over something he said - probably something stupid. The scales of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ are not improperly balanced - they are wholly missing, and it leaves Tatsuya uncertain.

“I’ll think about it,” he eventually says. “I’ll tell Naoya my answer, if that’s alright.”

“Fine by me,” his company says, who finishes counting this second stack. “I’ll clean the money, and you’ll get your cut soon enough. Are you going to keep your helmet on?”

“It’s comfortable. I’ll be leaving soon, anyway.”

“Whereabouts? You know it’s only fair.”

“Alderney,” he lies.


	7. cutting it short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first update that isn’t a double update! sorry about that - i desperately want to get the next chapter up as soon as possible!
> 
> i’ve been replaying persona 1 recently, since most of my replays seem to be of persona 2 only. i think it’s the combat that messes with me. i wish the original two games were more popular...
> 
> enjoy!

"Two of them survived,” Shiori says as she sits down, placing her coffee next to her keyboard. “The driver and the passenger. The two men in the backseat were killed immediately."

"Sounds ugly," Tatsuya replied, not glancing up from his phone. Shiori notices, but doesn’t seem to mind.

“It’s most likely connected to the hardware store shooting,” she continues, clicking open a writing document filled with a formal written report, certainly about the shooting.

"They found Hiroki Sugimoto among the dead."

"I think I’ve heard that name before."

"You probably have - he’s working for some bio-corps. Or, was." Shiori does that _thing_ she does, where she taps her chin with two index fingers and leans forward on them, elbow against the desk. "No idea why he was in there, but we have Yasuo and Tamaki investigating."

"Expecting those two to get along is like waiting for snow in July."

Shiori laughs, just a little. "Could be worse - could have Tadashi along with them." She takes a pause to sip her coffee, and makes a face. "This is disgusting. Did someone switch the creamer?"

Tatsuya opens his messaging application, stealing a glance toward Shiori to ensure she’s distracted by her bitter coffee, before opening the history with Naoya and quickly deleting the messages from the other day. The knot in his throat has not left him since he woke this morning and met Katsuya in their living room, the wake of his week’s excursion awash over his body.

At the same time - he’s rather thankful no one around the stationed has questioned his physical exhaustion. Perhaps he doesn’t look at unsettled as he could be in the wake of his Thursday afternoon - or perhaps he’s just that good at lying.

Whatever it is.

"How’s your week been?" Shiori then asks, eyes cast down into the murky water of her coffee. "Since you came back."

"Eventful," he replies - truthful. "Running errands for people who don’t want to do things themselves."

"How’s your father doing?"

"Alright. He wants my brother and I there for Christmas, together."

"That’s a ways away, isn’t it?"

Tatsuya makes a short hum of acknowledgement. He can hear it in Shiori’s breathing the she regrets bringing up his father - so he sighs, and then rests on his knuckles to look at her. "You don’t have to walk on glass when you bring him up. It’s not a sore spot."

"Just don’t want you to think _I_  think any less of you," she says, a weak smile trying to curl on her mouth. "I guess you already know what the rest of the force thinks."

"I’m not blind to any of it. They think I’m _sensitive_  about having a father on corruption charges."

"I wouldn’t blame them, though."

"No, I don’t - it’s kind of funny." Tatsuya turns his head down, looking to the notepad below him on the desk. "But I don't... hold it against anyone who does, I suppose."

Shiori keeps her smile, turning back to her own side of the desk. "You must be a very good son, Tatsuya."

"That’s a new one." But still, Tatsuya won't meet her smile. "Thanks."

* * *

His work day ends early enough in the evening that he realizes that he  _does,_ in fact, have enough time to bike to Chinatown and meet with the terrible twosome he calls friends.

Upon returning to the apartment, and notably not finding Katsuya home at all, Tatsuya changed his clothing and returned to his motorcycle outside, biking through downtown and into the busy streets of lower Algonquin. Lantern lights dangle over the streets, mercifully light with traffic yet with pedestrians crossing at intersections. He scours the signs for an English subtitle that Lisa told him to meet them under,  and it's one lone red light wait before he pulls to the street side parking spot and kicks the bike stand down.

Lisa Silverman and Eikichi Mishina nearly run into him with their charge. Lisa's arms are thrown over his shoulders before he can even reach for his helmet.

"Baby! Oh, baby, I missed you so much!" Lisa giggles, nuzzling the plastic of Tatsuya's helmet as he squirms beneath her iron grasp. "You didn't even call when you came back home!"

"I was busy, Lisa," Tatsuya grumbles, patting his fervent admirer on the back to coax her away from her embrace, only to be accosted by Eikichi's arm over his shoulders.

"Busy with  _me!_ I'm sorry, Ginko  _darling_ , but lovely little Tatsu-baby seems to like me more!"

"Only in your wet dreams, idiot!" Lisa thankfully yanks Eikichi off Tatsuya, who is finally allowed to remove his bike helmet in peace. "I know my  _Chinyan_ was busy, hard at work! You wouldn't know what hard work is after all."

Eikichi glares and steps toward her, but is stopped from getting in her personal space by Tatsuya's patient hand moving between them, cutting through to start walking down the street, to which both begin to follow. "I'm a big strong boy - Michel gets by! We can’t all have our brick shaped asses on magazine covers! You wait, I’ll be taking your place on _Prattle!_ "

"I’m not on _Prattle,_ you fucking cokehead!” Lisa snaps, reaching over behind Tatsuya to smack Eikichi. “I’m on _Pump!_  Besides, that celebrity garbage is all yours - I’m way better than that!”

"You still have a brick shaped ass!"

"And _you_  have pupils so dilated it’s like I’m talking to a brain dead cat!"

Tatsuya elbows the stretched arm of Lisa, shoving her off his back and away from Eikichi. His idiot friends return to their opposite sides, pointedly ignoring the other nuisance.

"Did you have fun in Los Santos, _Chinyan?_ " Lisa asks with a flutter to her voice, the flirtatious giggle she twists into her words whenever she talks to him, affectionate and gentle. "Bring anything back?"

“Nothing specific, no.” Tatsuya removes a cigarette from its box, lighter already in hand. "I just went to see my father, Lisa. It wasn’t a vacation. Where’s this restaurant?"

"We’re close," Lisa says, folding her arms and pressing her hands against her underarms to keep her hands to herself. " _Hung Mien_. Hungry?"

"Hungry enough."

"I’ll make sure you’re well fed, baby - you’re not leaving this place ‘til you’re stuffed!”

"I’m ecstatic," he replies dryly, pointedly turning his head toward Eikichi and exhaling a plume of smoke into his face when Tatsuya catches him snickering.

* * *

 

There’s a bell over the front door of Hung Mein that jingles something cute when they enter. A short woman asked the three of them for how many there would be in English, yet her expression changed to pleasant surprise when Lisa’s flawless Cantonese rolled off her tongue. The settle in a table by the storefront window - a small interior makes for a more cozy experience, Tatsuya finds.

Tatsuya knows he shouldn’t drink at all if he’s biking home, but he limits himself to the single pint that he picks out from the alcohol menu. Eikichi orders a fruity, sweet beverage with shaved ice and light alcohol stirred in - he takes a strong sip, and then stirs the ice with his straw. It smells like strawberries.

“So, Ginko -“ he starts, completely ignoring how Lisa rolls her eyes over her glass, “you haven’t stuck your nose up Tatsuya’s ass for a month, what have you been up to?”

“More than you’ve probably accomplished in your fucking life,” she retorts, taking a deep swing of her beer. “I’m doing a thing for some protein mix. It’s a sponsor my manager picked up for me.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think Michel would want to starve himself off protein powder and granola bars,” Eikichi scoffs, bringing his daiquiri-shaped glass with him as he leans back in their booth. “I _guess_  that’s cool, though.”

“You’re probably starving yourself on worse things, idiot.”

“ _I_ got a gig this week,” he says with a grin. “Ran into Tatsu-baby right after, too. Isn’t that right?”

“Small world,” Tatsuya says, not looking up from his drink, barely touched.

“It’s in that little Russian part of town - club’s called Perestroika, and you two _better_ find it in your little birdie hearts to come sing along to Gas Chamber’s music.”

“Isn’t that a cabaret club?” Lisa asks. “Doesn’t seem like the place for a metal band.”

“A venue’s a venue, baby!” Eikichi sips on his drink to accent his words. “Gas Chamber’s gonna make all those mafia types fall oh so deep in love, we might just solve world peace!”

“Or at least stop the gang violence in Broker,” Lisa says, kicking Eikichi lightly under the table. Eikichi catches the straw between his teeth when he grins, sipping the icy mound in his glass.

Tatsuya takes a moment in the silence of the two infants to take a sip of his own drink, leaning forward on the table and gazing past Eikichi to the road. A taxi rolls by, the back window open - a young woman gazes out, her hair pulled back and staring down the length of the road herself, not noticing Tatsuya has taken note of her. Her taxi seems to lull in traffic, and quietly, Tatsuya wonders where she may be going.

He’d like to pretend he recognizes her, but he doesn’t. The taxi finally begins to move and she disappears out of the corner of his eye, into the city’s depths.

“So do you actually use the stuff you promo, or is it just clutter?” Eikichi asks, kicking his feet out under the table, stretching and giving Lisa space.

“Of course I use the stuff. It’s how sponsors work. Don’t know you know this stuff?” Lisa rolls her eyes. “Or do rock stars just waste their budget on strippers and blow?”

“I’ll have you know I am _spoken for_ , thank you very much!” Eikichi shoots forward, hands on the table and frowning pointedly. “The missus knows _everyone_ wants a piece of Michel, but Michel’s only got an eye for one special lady!”

“Alright, so just blow.”

“Tatsu-baby’s not gonna arrest me for a little Saturday night fun, Ginko.” He waves a finger in front of her face, before Lisa promptly smacks it away. “I got a lady on one arm, and some stuff on the side with the boys - what do you got? Single and protein powder that makes you gay?”

“My boyfriend is right in front of me, you asshole! And my protein powder doesn’t make people gay!” Lisa shouts, kicking him under the table once more, a lot more firmly. Tatsuya lowers his face down into his hand, shaking his head and refusing to look at them.

“Really? People online say so.”

“Are you stupid? Like, _seriously_ , do you have rocks in your skull?” Lisa clenches both of her fists, pressing them down against the table. “Do you believe everything you read online? How about reading up on how to get that ribcage removed so you can go back to sucking your own dick—!”

“Lisa,” Tatsuya says firmly, hand now out on her forearm. “Tone it down. He’s joking.”

“ _Chinyaaaan!_ Make him stop, then!”

Tatsuya casts a cold look toward Eikichi, who rolls his eyes and looks away, out the window. “Quit riling her up. You’re just being annoying now.”

“What _ever_ ,” Eikichi sighs, before eventually reaching for his straw and sipping quietly. “She started it.”

Mercifully, Lisa doesn’t respond, instead grabbing her drink and throwing it back, draining the glass in one solid chug. She brings it down on the table with a too-firm knock, and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. She looks toward a counter farther into the restaurant, catching her eyes with the bartender, and gesturing for a refill.

Tatsuya can only assume the poor man looked petrified as he tended to her furious request, for his eyes glance down to his phone, which vibrates in his pocket.

“It’s not work, is it?” Lisa asks as Tatsuya brings the phone to his ear.

“Who is this?” he asks into the receiver.

“ _Tatsuya, right?_ ” The voice is too familiar, and the colour of Tatsuya’s face drains when the gruff tone dawns on him. “/ _It’s your new buddy. You doing anything tonight, **Joker**?”_

Tatsuya instinctively stands up from the table, drawing the concern of Lisa and Eikichi. Reiji Kido continues speaking, venom practically dripping in his words.

“ _You should have introduced yourself earlier. I had to do a bit of digging._ ”

“What do you mean? What do you want?” Tatsuya all but shouts into the phone, already drawing the curious eyes from patrons of the restaurant. Reiji cracks something like a laugh on the other end, but it’s more of a cough.

“ _‘Tats’ is a cute nickname. I’ll let Toudou know that when I get to his place._ ”

“When-” Tatsuya’s eyes shoot open, and he’s practically already out the door, running from the nervous cry of “ _Chinyan!_ ” from Lisa and the confused shout of “ _Where are you going?!_ ” from Eikichi. Phone pressed to the shell of Tatsuya’s ear, he bursts into a run toward his motorcycle, all while Reiji continues.

“ _Toudou thought he could try and mix me up with a cop, huh? You really think I’m that stupid, don’t you, Suou?_ ”

“Where is Naoya?!” Tatsuya shouts, already kicking off the curb and firing himself down the street, helmet barely thrown on his head as Tatsuya weaves through lulled traffic, echoing the street with furious horns. The connection between phone and earpiece is already on, and Reiji’s dark voice curls all around Tatsuya’s head, capturing his hearing in a cold and vicious gloat.

“ _Home safe and sound with his girlfriend and monkey roommate, hopefully. ‘Cause I’m coming for them._ ” Reiji’s grin can be heard through the phone, sharper than any knife Tatsuya has known. “ _And once I’m done with them, I’m coming for you, **pig**. I’ll teach you to never cross me again._ ”

“Reiji- don’t you dare hurt them, I can explain everything if you don’t-”

” _Shut the fuck up! I don’t have to listen to you!_ ” Reiji shouts over him, the crackle of the phone whipped by the wind around Tatsuya. “ _You’re driving here, huh? Good. You’re doing my job for me - I won’t have to go hunting for you._ ”

“I swear,” Tatsuya all but hisses, rounding a corner and driving straight down the street to meet the first arch of the Liberty Bridge. “If you touch them, you’ll never-“

Reiji hangs up. Tatsuya shouts a frustrated growl, turning off the wireless connection in his helmet with a smack against the side, and revs his bike to fire down the open stretch of highway, his desperate race begun.


	8. deals with devils

Tatsuya slams his shoulder into the door to open it, the doorknob crashing into the wall behind it. His arms immediately aim forward, walking into Naoya’s apartment with careful, long strides to approach the quiet, rushed voices ripe with panic down the length of the hall.

“Boss, c’mon, it’s not-” Masao’s nervous voice.

“Oh, it is, Inaba. Do you two think I’m stupid?” Reiji Kido’s darker one.

“Boss, please, don’t wave that around, we’ll talk it out -” Tatsuya already knows Masao can’t talk his way out of any situation pushed on him, and the fear creeping up on Tatsuya ever since he began his stairway ascension is confirmed when Masao is cut off by Maki’s shriek.

Tatsuya rounds the corner into the living room - Reiji Kido’s presence consumes the whole room, with Naoya and Masao kneeling on their floor by the arm chair, leaving Maki to cower in the furthest corner of the couch while Reiji aims his gun toward her. Her terrified sobbing is muffled from her arms covering her face, and Naoya is half standing up - Masao is pulling down on him to keep to the floor. Tatsuya grips his gun and strains his arms, the rattle of the pistol catching the attention of the men on the ground.

"Lower your weapon," Tatsuya demands, aiming for the spot between Reiji’s shoulders. "Put your hands behind your head, Reiji Kido."

Reiji looks over his shoulder. The arm extended toward Maki lowers slightly, but he doesn’t oblige Tatsuya’s command. "You even hold that thing like a cop. Why didn’t I notice sooner?"

 _"Lower your weapon,"_ Tatsuya demands again, firm and harsh. He takes a step inside the room.

Reiji makes an irritated sound. After a moment palpable silence, and with another step pressed toward him, Reiji lowers his gun toward the floor and places it forward on the coffee table, with his other hand raising to rest behind his head slowly. Maki lifts her head from behind her hands, tears staining her face as she looks up at the intruding saviour - she chokes another sob upon seeing Tatsuya’s eyes pierce the back of Reiji’s head, and bursts into a relieved cry when he gestures her forward to Naoya. She clamours off the couch and runs into her boyfriend’s arms, hiding her face into his shoulder.

"What are you going to do? Arrest me?" Reiji asks, both hands now raised behind his head. He looks behind at Tatsuya now, who is keeping eye contact while feeling up Reiji’s sides, gun against his back while searching for a second weapon. Tatsuya finds nothing.

"That’s what I should do," Tatsuya replies, stepping back from Reiji and resumes his stance.

"But you’re not, aren’t you?" Reiji turns around, the smirk on his face sharpening to a cruel grin when Tatsuya affirms his position, arms extended and both hands on his pistol. "Because I can’t be certain what you’ll do to the ones behind you if I do," Tatsuya says, but it makes Reiji laughs.

"No, it’s because I’ll talk, right? You’re worried I’ll tell everyone who helped kill Hiroki Sugimoto?"

Tatsuya only glares.

"I bet you want me for drug charges or something - whatever. Everyone’s eyes are on the suits being killed in some no-name part of town now. He was in bio-engineering, don’t you know? No public knowledge of working with drug money. For all they know, you killed an innocent man…"

"That was you," Tatsuya interrupts, and Reiji rolls his eyes.

"I don’t think anyone is going to know that, genius. They’ll just know that you can be placed there if I talk." Reiji looks toward Naoya again, frowning. "And you two idiots would join in too."

"I wasn’t trying to sabotage you," Naoya speaks up, "Reiji, I swear, he wanted to help us find what you’re looking for-"

"Save it, Toudou," Reiji snaps, and looks back to Tatsuya. "Would’ve been a whole different story if you were just some regular gunman they picked up. Drive all the way from _Alderney,_ wasn’t it?"

"Tell me what you want," Tatsuya says, plainly.

"You start work for me - properly. Not drugs, though." He takes a step toward Tatsuya, closer to the gun. It presses against his shirt, and Tatsuya is almost tempted to pull the trigger there, rip his chest open and stain the room with a mist of red. "You’ll be running more a personal job for me, with your friends, too. I could use the LCPD in my pocket."

"What if I refuse?" Tatsuya tests.

"You arrest me, and I take you to prison with my confession." Reiji glances around the corner of the apartment hall. "Or, I guess you kill me, but that would be a terrible idea; you left the door open."

Tatsuya doesn’t immediately glance to his right, hesitant - but then he does, quickly glancing at the door left ajar, then returns his stare to Reiji. He has to think - the terrified, shaking whimper of Maki Sonomura is all that lingers in the room when Reiji returns to smirking, and it makes Tatsuya think harder. He doesn’t want to lower his gun, but -

"Fine." He does. "Tell me who you’re looking for."

Reiji grins.

"I’ll call you about that. Keep your phone on." Reiji turns his whole body around, slowly, and makes a slow enough motion to his pistol on the table that Tatsuya doesn’t raise his own again. "You too, Toudou. You’ll be hearing a lot from me, soon."

Then, he begins to leave. A hand clasps Tatsuya’s shoulder on Reiji’s way out, and he takes a moment to lean in and mutter into his ear - "See you around, officer."

His shoes are heavy down the hall, as heavy as the door closing. Finally, Tatsuya lowers his arms, and Naoya rises off the floor. Maki in his arms and Masao lifting himself off Naoya’s shoulder.

"Tatsuya - thank you," he says, but Tatsuya can tell he’s harrowed, out of breath. Maki turns her head, locking at him mournfully. Her eyes are red and puffy. Tatsuya struggles to comfort others - he knows that. So he carefully places a hand on her shoulder. "I wasn’t going to let him hurt any of you, Maki."

"I know," she sniffs, and then departs from Naoya for a moment to hug him, her arms tight around his torso and her wet face against his chest. She turns her head, resting her ear against his steady heartbeat. "Thank you for coming. How did you know?"

"He called me," Tatsuya replies, returning the hug, a little stiffly and uncertain. "Probably while he was on his way over."

Maki nods, pulling herself from Tatsuya. Masao reaches forward and places a hand on her shoulder, that Maki reaches up and squeezes. “Hey, Makiroll, we’re sorry you had to-”

“I’m going to go see if Yuka is free,” she says, interrupting him. “Once - once I wash my face. Thank you again, Tatsuya.”

She walks past him quickly, with a _“um, excuse me,”_ and shrinking into herself before turning the corner. Her bedroom door closes quietly. Tatsuya looks at Naoya, who has seated himself on the arm chair, head down.

“You said he was looking for something - what is it?” Tatsuya asks, and Naoya heaves a sigh.

“It’s - it’s a lot to explain.”

Tatsuya turns, and sits down on the couch, stretching back. “Kido already interrupted my dinner with some of my friends. I have nowhere to be - might as well fill me in.” He frowns. “Properly.”

Naoya sighs again. Masao reaches up to scratch at his neck awkwardly, and sits on the chair’s arm at Naoya’s side. “Do y’want me to explain it, man?”

“No, it’s - I’ll do it. It’s my fault in the first place we listened to him.” Naoya lifts his head, lingering his gaze on the ceiling as he gathers his thoughts. With his arms on his knees, he mirrors how he sat on front of Tatsuya just a few days ago. “Masao and I moved to Florida. We met Reiji down there, after we both lost our jobs. He was doing similar work here down there - illegal things, mostly selling. We didn’t _want_ to work for him, it was a last resort - to keep ourselves from losing more than just our jobs.”

“Was there anything binding you to him, directly?”

“He was keeping us at his side until he found - something.” Tatsuya makes a face - his visible irritation causes Masao to speak up abruptly.

“He’s not holding anything out on you, Tats - I swear. Neither of us know what Kido’s chasing.” Masao adjusts how he sits, leaning forward to Tatsuya as if to appeal to something directly. “He even uprooted himself from Florida just to chase after whatever it is! He had a real good setup in Vice City, too.”

“Do you have _any_ idea what it could be?” Tatsuya asks. “A certain kind of product? A weapon, specific connections?”

“I’m not sure _what_ it is, only that he’s been saving a _lot_ of money for it.” Naoya sits up and leans back in the chair, the tension in his shoulders still wound up. He looks almost uncomfortable in the old seat. “We think he might even be living in Hove Beach just to save money on rent for whatever it’s going to be.”

He frowns, and it visibly makes Naoya hesitate. “Then what was the place we went to a few days ago?”

“Not his place, apparently. I think it’s a friend’s. We’ve never met them.”

Tatsuya sighs. “And you have honest to God no idea what he’s planning.”

“I wouldn’t hold anything out on you, Tats.” Naoya says, and Tatsuya doesn’t want to look at him, but he does.

“You’ve been holding out on a lot of things so far,” he comments, tersely. “You should start breaking that habit so we can fix this.”

Tatsuya pulls out his cigarettes and a lighter. Down the hall, Maki leaves the apartment, and Naoya sinks in the arm chair, arms spread out and eyes on the ceiling.

“Yeah,” he replies, “I should.”

* * *

Tatsuya stays at their apartment for another hour, watching through the window with Naoya to ensure Maki got into her Lyft safely, then waiting the rest of the hour just to be sure she made it to Yuka Ayase’s apartment in northern Algonquin. When Naoya received a text from her saying she was fine, Tatsuya left silently, driving to his own apartment as the dark of night began to blanket Liberty City.

His phone rings with a Gas Chamber song turned into a weird midi tune, courtesy of Eikichi some time ago. Already hit with the phone when he walks through the door, Tatsuya answers it. Mercifully, Katsuya doesn’t seem to be home.

_“Tatsuya, you sure none of that was an emergency?”_

“Yeah - I’m alright.” After the silence of Naoya’s apartment, having Eikichi in his ear was almost comforting. “It was just work. Is Lisa alright?”

 _“She was pretty bummed you had to dip. Better make it up to her.”_ He snickers in a devious way. _“In that special kind of way.”_

“Shut up,” Tatsuya groans, opening the refrigerator in his kitchen for something to eat. He finds nothing, but pulls out a water bottle. “We’re not dating anymore. She just doesn’t want to let go.”

_“And you’re just leading the poor girl along?”_

“Hardly. She just wants someone to be with. I’ve told her no.”

_“Take the poor girl to the Triangle’s Club for the night. Let her let it loose. Poor little Lisa must be repressed as shit if you won’t put out.”_

“She probably would think I’m trying to hook us up with one of the dancers.” Tatsuya sits himself on the couch. “How the hell do you know she’s repressed? She’d never tell you that.”

_“No woman cares that much about the asses of other women in sporty shorts if she doesn’t want to get with them a little bit.”_

“You’re the perfect wingman, Eikichi.”

 _“You know I’m all about spreading the love!”_ He interrupts himself to, most likely, fake-swoon over himself, what with the little sigh he adds to his words. _“She paid for your drink, by the way.”_

“I’ll have to pay her back as soon as I see her, then,” Tatsuya sighs.

_“You sure things are alright, Tatsu-baby? Sounded like a nasty emergency you had to run off ot.”_

“I said it wasn’t an emergency.” Tatsuya drinks from the water bottle, and drains it halfway. “I’m just tired. Long night.”

_“Rough night?”_

“I guess.”

 _“I’m afraid you’ll have to start paying Michel if you want him to therapize your ass.”_ He can hear the grin in his voice, and it makes the memory of Naoya’s distant look as he left the apartment a little bit more far off, harder to remember. He would rather it that way _“But it can’t be now - I gotta go, man. Call you later.”_

“Talk to you soon,” Tatsuya replies, and hangs up before Eikichi can.

He caps the bottle and places it on the coffee table, avoiding books that Katsuya has left stacked around the glass surface. Tatsuya rises, walks back to the kitchen, and gets a different coloured bottle from the back of the fridge, finding his keys to pop open the bottle of beer before he sits back down, the cap rolling off somewhere under the coffee table.

It’s not much better than water, but it’ll get his mind off Naoya Toudou and his stupid mistakes.

Tatsuya takes a deep swig, laying down the length of the couch once he finishes, wincing at the dry, flat taste on his tongue. Staring at the ceiling, he thinks about Redwoods in Florida once more, and as he dozes, Reiji Kido settles down next to him in the waning dream light of Vice City, taking the lighter to ignite his last smoke, grinning something mysterious.


	9. the emperor assassination

He receives a call from Reiji five days later, when he has begun to hope something happened to him. He gives him the directions to follow, and Tatsuya feels like an animal dragged by a chain when he leaves his apartment to drive over.

Reiji meets him outside of a restaurant in the heart of the glowing lights of the Star Junction. He looks at Tatsuya’s bike, then down the length of the road from where he came. “Interesting ride. You really do bike around everywhere?”

“Have no other reason not to,” Tatsuya replies, hopping off the bike and removing his helmet. “Because _usually_ , I don’t get involved in car chases on it.”

“You’re funny.” Reiji removes a cigarette from his jacket, and Tatsuya feels and odd rush of peculiar relief. Once Reiji lights his smoke, he extends the lighter to Tatsuya, who tentatively uses it for his own. He leads him a little farther into the sidewalk, past passing pedestrians and lingering instead between the restaurant and the building to its right, allowing them partial privacy. “So, let me get to the point of dragging you out here.”

Tatsuya doesn’t hold eye contact. Reiji circles him while he sits against the wall, pausing to take a smoke as he reflects. “You’re going to go after a man named Ideo Hazama, first. Have you ever heard of him, or met him?”

“He’s a business man,” Tatsuya replies, following him with his eyes. “But I’ve never met him.”

Reiji holds the cigarette in his teeth, to pull his phone out of his jacket's pocket, swiping a few application windows shut to show Tatsuya the man’s face in a photo app. Black, curly hair. He’s in a white suit. It looks like some kind of organized event from the picture.

“He moved from Los Santos several years ago. Came into a burst of money at the same time, though he claims he was just following where his business was taking him.”

“What does he do?”

“Insurance, mostly. He's never done time for financial corruption, but was outed for a scam in 2010. The money came at the expense of several investors of a rival company, and his own company swelled up once he moved here. He’s done work with yakuza types, Tien Tao Lien - he has deep roots in Asia.”

“So, you’re a vigilante all of a sudden?” Tatsuya asks. “This is quite the turn from drug running.”

Reiji grins without looking up. “You have no idea what I’ve been up to.”

Reiji looks up, frown on his face when Tatsuya is staring a hole into his head, as he plucks the cigarette from between his teeth, pinching it between his index and thumb. "Enlighten me," Tatsuya remarks.

“Threatening me won’t get you anywhere, officer,” Reiji croons, and looks back down. “His office is in the business district, but you won’t be there. He lives on the penthouse of a condominium in Middle Park. You'll be taking his personal laptop and his life. ”

“No,” Tatsuya replies, terse. “You’re not turning me into your hitman.”

“I seem to recall you swearing yourself to do personal work for me,” Reiji responds, flat and lacking the lilt of amusement he’s been toying with. “Which includes hunting the people I choose.”

“You’re not going to get me to kill someone just because you want me to.”

“I don’t _want_ you to. I _need_ you to.” Reiji steps around from Tatsuya, forcing him to look up at him directly. “I’m not asking you to make off with some rich fuck I just don’t like. He’s a corrupt bastard - just look him up, son of a bitch has theft charges all over the place that he’s been sweeping under the rug ever since 2003. If you do this, you’ll find out why I’m asking this soon enough - his shit’s all on his laptop, that’s our ticket to his inner workings. I'll even let you poke around.”

Reiji turns off his phone and pockets it. “Besides - you’ve already killed, supposedly because I _wanted_ to. What makes this any different?”

Tatsuya’s glare doesn’t humble the wicked smirk on Reiji’s face. The threat he spat to a dying, cornered Hiroki Sugimoto rings loudly in his thoughts like a warning bell, and he finally responds by inhaling one last time on his cigarette, then throws the red bulb into the dirt gathered at the foot of the wall. “What else do I need to know?”

“I’m going to call you on specifics later - figured I’d get you caught up in person, is all.” Like Tatsuya, Reiji flicks the remnants of his cigarette to the sidewalk when he’s done with it, exhaling one last plume of thin smoke into the air. “You’ll break into the penthouse, deal with him inside, then take the laptop he has. Mark down everything you can pick out inside that place.”

Tatsuya presses his mouth in a line. “And how will I know where his laptop is?”

“Check his office, or his bedroom, or something.” Reiji rolls his eyes. “If it’s not out in the open, then it’s going to be in a briefcase. There’s a rooftop across the street; Inaba and Toudou will join you.”

Tatsuya remains silent.

“You’ll get it done,” Reiji says, patting Tatsuya’s shoulder. “Now, for your good behaviour, I’ll get you a coffee.”

* * *

When Tatsuya enters the apartment once more, Katsuya looks anxious and he pulls a suit jacket off his shoulders.

“You alright?” Tatsuya asks. His brother doesn’t look up at him for long, and is back almost immediately to looking between jackets, sprawled out on the coffee table and couch.

“Does this one look better?” Katsuya lifts up one of the coats, holding it against his front. His books have been moved to the floor to make room. “Or this one?”

“The one you just had on.” Tatsuya doesn’t linger his eyes on Katsuya for long, lowering his gaze to avoid him as long as he can. Mercifully, Katsuya doesn’t notice. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going out,” Katsuya says - if Tatsuya looked up, he’d see Katsuya smiling faintly. “It’s, for, uh - I’m seeing someone tonight.”

“I don’t believe that,” Tatsuya jokes which makes the older one of the two roll his eyes. “Who’s the unlucky person?”

“How are you going to insult me when you haven’t gone out with someone in years?”

“I wasn’t aware you had the comebacks of a high schooler.”

“She’s a boxing instructor from Broker. We met online.” He pauses, and Tatsuya is pretty sure he’s looking at him. “I’m- I figured I’d try it out, you know?”

“She’ll kick your ass if you upset her.” Tatsuya is in the kitchen, but can still hear the scoff of breath under Katsuya’s breath - he doesn’t look for anything specifically, but it occupies his gaze. He doesn’t have to look into the main room. “Is that why you’re getting so dressed up? To make a decent impression?”

“Obviously.” Katsuya lifts up the jacket he had discarded, to put back on. He runs his hands down his torso, smoothing both jacket and the collared shirt underneath, looking down his body. “I look good?”

“Like a virgin.” Katsuya glares at Tatsuya, who finally offers a fleeting glance over his shoulder, and then shrugs. “It’s charming.”

Katsuya pockets his wallet and phone, then crosses the room to the shoe closet. His presence behind Tatsuya makes his shoulders hackle.

“I bought some things today. Make yourself something to at tonight with it.” Katsuya leans down to put on his dress shoes. “Don’t drink that bottled ice coffee though, that’s mine.”

“Fine.” Having Katsuya so close reminds Tatsuya he’d rather be alone. He almost adds that he, too, will be leaving soon as well, but he’d rather not make his brother think at all where he’ll be tonight. He physically bites his tongue, and there’s a part of him that can imagine Reiji in the living room, waiting for Tatsuya to say something so he can add a quip to it.

“Oh, and you should try to get to work.” Katsuya opens the door, and lingers in it. “On the case?”

“Of course. Go disappoint your date.”

“Thanks for your encouragement,” Katsuya grumbles, and closes the door behind him.

When the apartment grows silent, Tatsuya turns around, leaving the tiled floor of the kitchen. The temporary relief given to him by his brother now gone, following him outside - the guilt of his decisions settles in, as does the epiphany of his treatment of his brother.

Tatsuya heaves a frustrated grunt. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Katsuya left his other jacket on the table. Tatsuya sits down and stares at it, searching for nothing in particular - there’s nothing he requires, and staring at his brother’s clothing just makes the thought in his head heavier every time they swing back into focus. He closes his eyes, feeling the swell of dread at the peak of his chest, threatening to suffocate his throat. He tries to take a deep breath, but feels the vibration of his phone in his pocket before he can exhale. He waits to respond for a moment longer, then pulls the phone from his pocket.

“Suou,” he speaks.

_“Ready for your big day, Joker?”_

Kido.

“You and Naoya finished with your scouting?” Tatsuya asks, voice empty.

_“Of course. You by a computer?”_

He looks across the floor, at his bedroom’s closed door. Then, by the gathered books Katsuya moved off the table earlier. “No, but I have something to write on.”

 _“Fine. Write it down.”_ Tatsuya flips to the last page of the legal paper notepad, and picks up the pen off the floor right as Reiji settles into his instructions. _“Our man lives in Middle Park. He’s on the top floor of a twenty-two flight building, overlooking the park. You’re going to enter the building from the back - there’s a service door that is unlocked, and it leads into the trash services - which is open to tenants.”_

Tatsuya writes his words in bullet points - Reiji continues nonetheless. _“When you’re in the regular halls, nobody will tell you visitor from tenant. Go up to the nineteenth floor through the elevators, then continue up the stairs to the service door on the roof.”_

“How am I meant to get inside from the roof?” Tatsuya asks, but he feels he already knows the answer - dreadfully.

_“You’re going to be leaping down, of course. It’s just one flight. You’ll be bringing a grapnel with you, anyway, to get back up - unless you want to walk through the place on the way out.”_

“I’m good.”

_“Thought so. Once you’re up there, wait for our friends across the street to take him out.”_

“Naoya and Masao are _sniping?”_ Tatsuya clarifies, trying to imagine Masao working a hunting rifle. “I don’t think either of them have used a gun larger than a pistol.”

“You’d be surprised,” Reiji laughs, and Tatsuya doesn’t like the dread that settles back inside of him. “Once they take him out, drop down and bring him inside. There’s a wall between tenants, so you shouldn’t be noticed. Once you’re inside, get what you need.”

“And then exit through the roof.”

_“You’ve caught on quick.”_

Tatsuya lowers the pen and rips the paper from the back of the notepad, reading over his note. “And I’ll be able to leave the service door without anyone around.”

 _“If you’re that worried, use your ‘police training’ to knock someone out. I’m sure you’ll be able to keep the collateral down.”_ Reiji sounds like he reaches for something, then mutters something to a second party. Tatsuya's stomach churns with uncertainty. _“Toudou’s going to be going to you now. Oh, by the way - bring your helmet. I’ll call you when you’re done.”_

Reiji hangs up with the phone in Tatsuya’s ear. He doesn’t pull it away until he exhales, after what seems like too long.

* * *

His eyes are closed as Naoya rolls to a stop, and parks the car.

“You know which building you’re going up, right?” Naoya asks. Tatsuya opens an eye to glance over.

“Do _you?”_ he replies, a touch of momentary concern. Naoya is half turned towards the back seat, to pull out Tatsuya’s biker helmet, when he pauses to glance back.

“Of course. Right across from you.” He settles back into the seat, cradling the helmet in his lap. “Masao’s already up there.”

“How do you know he’s up there alone?” Tatsuya asks, leaning forward to glance up the scale of buildings, eyeing the balconies of a white bricked tower. “Hazama, I mean.”

“He will be. He has no partners anyone knows of, and he doesn’t have any family associates.” Naoya follows Tatsuya’s gaze, then looks at him properly. With the windows closed and the city moving around them outside, it feels a lot more quieter when they're this close together. “You’ll be the only one up in that condo with him.”

Tatsuya only nods. After a moment of passing silence, Naoya asks, “You know how you’re getting up there?”

“Elevators,” Tatsuya leans back, into the back seat for the black case, holding a grappling hook. He doesn’t like looking at him when they do this, but he forces himself to once he settles into his seat. “Then several flights up the stairwell to reach the roof. You know I’ve never scaled a building before, right?”

“You’re not scaling the building, Tats,” Naoya laughs, reaching to clap his shoulder, gently. “He’s on the top floor; roof to balcony.”

“Jumping off an apartment roof,” he sighs. “That’s _much_ better, thanks.”

Naoya smiles, and Tatsuya is filled with deep longing for a different day. He hasn’t been in Naoya’s presence alone since their first re-encounter, and most of their time together otherwise has been tainted with criminal intent. Tatsuya wishes they were parking the car to go some where, else, without Reiji Kido or Masao Inaba or secret intentions.

“You look like you have something on your mind,” Naoya says.

“I just haven’t seen your smile in a while,” Tatsuya replies - truthfully, and he’s relieved that is so. “It… hasn’t changed.”

Naoya’s smile shifts from curious to serene, still as bold. “Thank you. I’ll have to make up for lost time.”

Tatsuya tries a smile of his own, but struggles to make it reach his eyes. Naoya doesn’t seem to notice - or is bothered at all that he struggles to return it. Instead, Tatsuya reaches for his helmet in Naoya’s lap, and averts his eyes from Naoya’s reassuring smile. He slips it on once he steps out of the passenger door.

“I’ll call you once I spot you on the roof,” Naoya says behind him, leaning towards Tatsuya once he exits the car. “Remember, Hazama’s apartment is on the south west corner. Tatsuya?”

Tatsuya looks back inside.

“Gook luck,” Naoya says, earnest.

Tatsuya gives him a thumbs up, and is relieved he cannot see his remorse.


	10. falling star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for brief descriptions of violence.

The walk down the length of the building is a quiet one, much unlike what Tatsuya was expecting. He keeps himself close to the brick and watches the resting camera perching over the door into the trash services that seems to gaze too far away from the foot of the door it is guarding. The helmet sits snug on his head when he turns his restricted gaze back down the alley road to ensure his coast is clear, and then, Tatsuya dips inside the apartments.

The interior of the garbage disposal is, surprisingly, a little less industrial than the one in his own apartment complex - the floor is not plain concrete, but covered in linoleum tiles, streaked with wet trash brought down however long ago at the foot of large, metal dumpsters beneath steel plated chutes that go up however many floors there must be in this building. Avoiding the repulsive stains, Tatsuya navigates to the door that leads into the depths of the building, carefully peering out the heavy metal door and down the halls.

There is a janitor with his back to Tatsuya. Tatsuya pales, but he’s the furthest from the elevators, so he quietly steps into the hall - floors of polished marble, much different from the tile inside the garbage room - and takes a quick, steady stride to the elevators, mercifully close to the doors.

Waiting for the flight up, Tatsuya keeps his head as straight as he can while he steals glances to his left and right. He isn’t sure of the time of day, but a part of him feels as if it creeps close to the end of the average work hour - getting upstairs should be far less of a hazardous risk without the city’s elite wandering into their apartments from long days at work. The janitor has yet to turn around, though he clearly seems occupied with wringing the warm, sudsy water from his mop’s head to clean the floors.

The elevator arrives. Tatsuya takes a deep breath, and steps inside.

The flight up nineteen floors is quiet until his wireless ear piece rings inside his helmet. He taps to receive. “Suou speaking.”

 _“You up there yet?”_ Naoya sounds as engaged as one does when they’re awaiting a taxi. Tatsuya silently exhales, and then glances at the button navigation of the elevator. Twenty-two. It crawls to a gentle stop, lurching for a brief moment to settle.

“Getting off now,” Tatsuya replies, stepping out. He circles to the stairwell, unoccupied when so high up - he’d hate to have to rush down so many flights in the face of an emergency. “How’s Inaba?”

_“Preparing the rifle. Looks excited enough.”_

_“Hell yeah, it’s exciting!”_ Masao’s cheerful voice is distant, but as enthusiastic as Tatsuya does dread. _“We’ll cover you when you get up on the roof!”_

“How’s the building over there?” Tatsuya asks, walking up the stairwell - it’s a rather large room, the concrete painted an ugly yellow and lit with stale, white fluorescent lights. “Are you inside or on the roof?”

 _“A few flights up where you should be, actually. I can see Hazama’s balcony just glancing out.”_ Naoya walks to the window, and he can imagine Naoya’s face peeking out from behind the blinds. _“The place is empty. I think it’s a vacant apartment.”_

“You _think?”_

_“Reiji told us it was, but you can never be sure.”_

“Spare me anymore details,” Tatsuya mumbles, and then pushes open the service door to the roof. A gust of wind flushes into the hallway, rustling the parts of Tatsuya’s sleeves not bound down from the coat’s shape. It steadies once he steps out, allowing the heavy steel to close. He can hear Naoya ask in his ear,  _“Is that you? Walk to the south corner.”_

Tatsuya glances around, and follows Naoya’s direction, towards the corner of the building that faces a slightly taller building.

 _“There you are,”_ Naoya says, and Tatsuya silently lifts a hand to passively wave at his friend. _“Masao, look - Tats is over there, see?”_

Masao’s laugh is loud even from the distant receiver, and Tatsuya frowns under his helmet. He quietly creeps towards the ledge of the building, and when he glances down he feels his stomach sway - the building looms directly over the street, the passing cars looking like little more than toys on the ground. The balcony of Ideo Hazama’s apartment is glass framed in black pipes, an ornate design blown into the clear panels. A table sits in the shade of a wall, with a full beverage sheltered from the sun. Ideo seems absent, but Tatsuya doesn’t need to be told to know that he’ll be back outside any moment.

He holds his tongue when Naoya starts to speak again, directing Masao to take position. _“We spotted him going back inside earlier - you have your hook ready, Tats? Or are you going to jump?”_

Masao says something, presumably about Tatsuya’s silence - for Naoya responds to him with an _I figured_ scoffed under his breath. Tatsuya looks down at the small case in his hand, a thick, heavy cord within tied to the grappling hook. He kneels down to the roof and opens the plastic casing, and holds the steel, experimentally brushing the curve of the hooked claw with a gloved hand. He’s never tied one of these before. Does he latch it on to the edge of the roof? He wonders how it’ll hold his weight when climbing back up. Jumping to the balcony would be manageable - barely, but he could close his eyes and pray he doesn’t miss.

He won’t miss.

_“He’s coming, Tats. Get ready.”_

He better not miss.

Tatsuya shuffles a little farther back, enough to still watch the curly hair of Ideo Hazama wander out from his balcony. A thin plume of smoke follows up from in front of him, and the gentle whisper of blowing smoke drifts in the wind high above the city. Ideo leans forward on the balcony, staring down at the cars passing through the street. He seems like a man at peace - Tatsuya has never met the man, but he feels a strange force swell inside his chest at knowing this man would die.

Maybe it’s because of what he’s sworn himself to do. Maybe it’s because he knows his empathy stunts itself, except when it decides to not, and then he finds himself falling in debt for Naoya’s choices. Tatsuya inhales when Ideo does, and he tries to think of the sting of his own cigarettes to distract himself from the coming shot. Across the street, Masao Inaba pulls the trigger of a hunting rifle hiding behind parted blinds in an empty apartment.

Glass shatters.

Tatsuya opens his eyes abruptly.

Ideo has turned around, unharmed, to stare back into his apartment. Shock holds itself on his expression, and he drops his cigarette to the street below. He throws his gaze across the street where the bullet came from, and Naoya begins to scream in Tatsuya’s ear, a heated argument ignited with his gunman.

_“You missed?!”_

_“I-I didn’t mean to! My hands were shaking!!”_

_“Why didn’t you just let me do it then?!”_

_“I wanted to- I don’t know, come on! I just-”_

Ideo begins to run back inside through the shattered glass of his apartment door when Tatsuya immediately jumps down, crashing down on top of him. He swears the balcony trembles, and the heart pounding in his ears tries to distract him from that possibility.

No scream comes from Ideo Hazama - he stares up at Tatsuya who covers his mouth with a hard hand, and slams a fist into the side of his helmet with a vicious glare in his eye. The grappling hook in Tatsuya’s hand scrapes against the concrete of the balcony as he grips it, forcing himself up and sitting on Ideo’s stomach to hold him down. His hand remains over his mouth as he fixes his grip on the hook, and only removes it in quick succession of his swing to smash the hook across Ideo’s temple. Blood splatters from the curve of the hook scraping against his skin, and all Ideo can cry out is a harsh, wicked gasp as his head wrenches to the side.

Tatsuya does it again, the opposite direction, now scraping his jaw and rattling the man’s dying vision some more. Blood follows Tatsuya’s swings, thin streaks of blood staining the glass, and he is wholly aware of what he is doing when he heaves another strike down on to Ideo’s skull, and again, and again, and once more, until the bruises begin to flourish and there’s enough blood pooling around the once-man’s head to match Tatsuya’s biking suit.

The hook clatters against the concrete. Naoya and Masao’s argument has gone dead silent in Tatsuya’s ear, who exhales deeply and closes his eyes.

_“Is- is he dead?”_

“Yeah,” Tatsuya finally says, shaking his gloved hand that held the hook to flick any remaining blood off of it. “He’s dead.”

_“Christ, I— Tats, I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to—”_

Masao shouts something, and Naoya interrupts himself to shout into the receiver - _“A neighbour is coming! Get his body inside!”_

Without hesitation, Tatsuya lifts himself off of Ideo’s body and rolls him over, grabbing him from under his arms and dragging his corpse through the shattered glass of the door frame. When his feet cross over the door’s threshold, Tatsuya can hear a woman’s voice - “Mister Hazama? Was that you?”

Tatsuya takes pause, so he doesn’t step on any broken glass on the carpet inside. He glances around, and notes he’s in an office of sorts - a laptop is open on a desk facing the interior, and he smirks from behind his helmet. It’s a moment of silence before Naoya is back in his ear - _“Alright, she’s gone. What do you see?”_

“The laptop,” Tatsuya says, lowering Ideo’s body on to his carpet. Blood begins to drain from his beaten skull, staining his white suit. “I’ll unplug it now.”

_“Look around a little, if you want. Masao and I are packing up and heading to the parking garage - go to the basement when you leave.”_

“Alright. Be quick.”

 _“I should be saying that to you,”_ Naoya says, and hangs up.

Tatsuya makes quick work to move over to the laptop, noting the screen-saver has yet to crawl over the window, and he wonders if the man was checking something when he had gone inside earlier. Tatsuya notes the tabs open - email services, a video website - and then closes the screen of the laptop, meeting once more with the corpse once known as Ideo Hazama. Tatsuya’s jaw tenses when he looks at what he did from a longer distance, and avoids catching any glances towards the corpse, as if its head mighy turn and he’d be stared through by bruised, swollen eyes.

The bag of the laptop is in a deep cabinet of the desk, and when Tatsuya opens it, he notes several letters opened and resealed tucked alongside it - the dates interest him enough to pack them into the pockets of the bag when he brings them up to pack the computer in. Nothing else particularly interests him on the desk, no matter how he searches it. The bag itself holds several flash drives and a notebook, though Tatsuya figures they may be important.

If Reiji had told him what Hazama was harbouring, maybe the search could be more thorough. Tatsuya looks up from the desk to the office door, closed - bag in hand, he crosses the floor, glass crunching beneath his boots, and he checks for the lock. Quietly, he locks it, and then exits the shattered glass door, not looking back to the dead businessman.

Instead, he looks up the length of the building - he hadn’t secured the hook before he jumped down on to the man out of murderous instinct. He closes his eyes to sigh, then turns around to grab the bloodied grappling hook, and throws it up the building. The climb is only a few feet taller than Tatsuya is himself - it’s the notion of climbing up a building at all that puts tension in his throat. The laptop bag doesn’t make that any easier.

Foot on the brick, he heaves himself up, feeling the hook hold the edge of the building steady - but feeling also the wind rolling against his back, and Tatsuya tries not to think about the height he is from the city below. He is only barely thankful to crawl over the edge and roll against the stone roofing, but doesn’t linger on his side. He makes quick work to pack up the hook into the plastic case, and then hurries to the roof door, rounding the stairs and hurrying down the flights to a lower floor, to the elevator, and into the quiet, mirrored shelter.

Tatsuya takes a step back to lean on the railing of the elevator as it lurches to carry him down. He closes his eyes for five flights, then opens them, looking around at the myriads of himself, staring back at him. Black helmeted, red clothed - there’s blood on his knees, but it blends in just enough that you’d have to stare at it. Tatsuya pushes the body out of his mind, but it swings back in like a hanging corpse instead, only to collapse on the floor of his thoughts. He can only push it far out enough when the basement is reached, and he steps out of the elevator, hurried.

He rounds to the left and almost runs into a man, possibly the same age as him, possibly not. He stares at Tatsuya curiously, and opens his mouth to speak. Tatsuya feels panic swell inside of him, and he lifts his hand almost immediately to crack the plastic case against the man’s head, sending him tumbling to the ground. He heaves a pained grunt, clutching the side of his head, which is enough to keep the horror in his stomach at bay when Tatsuya runs past him and into the parking garage below the building. Blood doesn’t stain the case, but he could never be sure now.

Running into a parking lot is a terrible idea. Thankfully, Naoya has pulled his car out of the spot, and Tatsuya runs to him, diving into the backseat, held open by Masao.

“Hop in!” Masao calls out, and Tatsuya rushes to remove his helmet once the door is slammed shut, Naoya hurriedly reversing and driving the car out of the garage.

“Get it off,” Tatsuya says, throwing the helmet to the floor of the car and grabbing at his coat buttons.

“Get - your coat off? What’s wrong?” Masao asks, pulling the laptop bag and hook case into his lap, watching Tatsuya with caution.

“There was a man in the hallway - I had to… down him,” Tatsuya says, regret decorating his words like a terrible curse. “He’s alive, but - I need to look normal, anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah - take that off, man, keep it back here,” Masao says, waiting for Tatsuya to shed the red coat to lean the cases into the front seat, allowing Naoya to usher them down below the passenger seat, out of sight. Tatsuya heaves a heavy, tired sigh when he slouches into his seat, Masao reaching over to draw the seatbelt across his chest. Tatsuya looks at him weakly, and then slouches against the car door.

“You ok?” Masao asks, a hand now on Tatsuya’s shoulder. “That looked super brutal, man… I’m sorry, I’ve never fired a gun like that before-”

“I know, it’s - I understand,” Tatsuya sighs, fingers running through his brown hair and gripping a handful.

“It was real badass, you jumped down on him, like an assassin type-”

“Masao,” Naoya says simply, a warning. Masao frowns, and Tatsuya reaches down into his jacket, rustling through his pockets to find his cigarettes and lighter. He’s quick to light himself one, rolling the back window down only enough to let a small plume of smoke to float out, taking a deep drag. Masao slouches in his seat, straining his seatbelt and folding his arms.

“Man,” Masao says, “What do you think will happen? You think we’ll be clear?”

“Of course,” Naoya says, eyes on the road to navigate the sunset-coloured streets of the city. “We’ll be fine. Tatsuya’s just unhappy he had to do that, is all.”

“Wouldn’t of happened if I shot better,” Masao sighs, looking out the opposite window to follow the streets and pedestrians, people wandering their day, none the wiser about the corpse that hangs above them all. He makes a face at the cigarette smoke beginning to swarm the back seat, and rolls his window down a little more than Tatsuya has his to get a flush of cool air.

Tatsuya closes his eyes. He exhales, a false form of peace cast over him now that the cigarette settles in his system. He stares at the ceiling of Naoya’s car, holding the cigarette between his fingers while it burns close to his mouth. He tries to scrub the dead man from his memory, and he thinks if he had looked him in the eye, it’d burn him even harder.

He tries to not think about how Katsuya would look at him.

When they reach the Liberty Bridge, an ambulance drives past them, sirens on.


	11. in memoriam

“Fucking-! I _hate_ people who drive like this,” Lisa grumbles, dropping back into her seat with a frustrated grunt as the crossing light ahead turns into yellow once more.

“Ginko-baby, you say that about everyone,” Eikichi says from the seat behind both Lisa and Tatsuya, slouched in his seatbelt ( _“C’mon, Tatsuya, at least I’m wearing it!”_ ) and looking at something on his phone. “You ever get to one place without insulting everyone and their mama?”

“You ever drive through downtown LC on a Sunday? It’s like everyone suddenly decides to clog the fucking roads!” Lisa glares up into her rear view mirror, staring at a disinterested Eikichi. “Don’t put your shoes on my backseat, either.”

“These are brand new, polished kicks, girl - you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“You are not about to pretend like just one step on these sidewalks won’t cause your shoes to become more filthy than a garbage dump in July.”

“Don’t scare me like that, you know I try to stay as clean as I can.” Eikichi seems to shudder, and then shifts how he sits against the car door, trying to find a position that keeps the belt across his torso while not sitting up. “How long are we gonna be?”

Lisa turns her head to glare directly at him this time, but mercifully, holds her tongue. She keeps the fixated scowl until Tatsuya taps her shoulder, prompting her to turn her head back to the road and continue to drive, sighing something out of relief when the car holding her back takes a turn she won’t be following.

“Finally.” When she can, she glances at Tatsuya, and her features soften to something much more pleasant and serene. “How was work today?”

“Fine.”

“You haven’t looked good all day, you know.”

“It was - a little rough.” Tatsuya leans against his window, arm hanging out to dangle in the low wind that rolls against the moving vehicle. “It wasn’t busy, just… I didn’t get much sleep last night. Added up.”

“You haven’t been overworking yourself, have you?” Lisa asks, looking at him directly when the car rolls to pause with another intersection. Her eyes are soft, just as much as her voice - for all of her old school pining, Lisa does care, which is a nice change. “Can your brother pull strings to help you out?”

“I’m not overworking myself,” Tatsuya replies, looking back to her. “You don’t have to worry, Lisa.”

“Wanna go get something from a drug store? To help you sleep. I wanted to stop by one anyway, I need more formula.”

“That wouldn’t be too bad.”

Lisa’s smile remains a comfort, even when it is tested by a kick from Eikichi. It breaks when she shoots a glare back at him, who watches her with a fake innocence, grinning.

“Light’s green,” he says, and Lisa growls a sharp _ugh._

“I’m going to make you walk if you kick me again.”

* * *

 

He doesn’t have much else to get once he finds the pharmacy at the back of the store and pays for a small bottle of sleeping pills, but Eikichi and Lisa have found the time to debate the purpose of energy drink formulae a few aisles down.

It’s not a drug store, but more of a supermarket with an assortment of services - a pharmacy, a coffee stall, various stores that line the row of registers that buzz with small activity. Tatsuya stands at the foot of the health supplies aisle as Lisa walks down it, looking over her shoulder to insult Eikichi - something about his weight. Eikichi fires something back about Lisa’s ass, and she elbows him. Tatsuya rolls his eyes.

“Tatsuya?”

Tamaki Uchida approaches him, with her arms full of a large bouquet, blooming with white lilies that open like stars. She’s still in her uniform, which makes Tatsuya believe she came here right after her shift. Tatsuya pockets his phone. “Didn’t expect to see you today. Everything alright after I left?”

“Yeah. Nothing came up or anything.” She adjusts how she holds the bouquet, trying to look over the fresh cut flowers to look at him. “I just got off work. I’m going to be bringing these to Reiko’s place.”

“That’s nice of you. Are you going to take her out later?”

“Oh - no, these aren’t a gift.” Tamaki tries to laugh, but the somber note is enough to burn out Tatsuya’s innocent curiosity. “I mean - they are, but. It’s mostly for her mother. Her brother died a few days ago - we’re going to his funeral.”

Tatsuya pales, a morbid epiphany threatening to break through his thoughts all at once. “Oh? I’m sorry to hear that.”

“He was Ideo Hazama - you know, the businessman in the news?” Tamaki sighs. “I was even on dispatch to his apartment complex.”

“I thought Reiko’s last name was Akanezawa.”

“It is - I think their parents split when they were kids.” Tamaki fixes the arrangement again, her eyes drifting from Tatsuya’s strained expression, who tries to mute it and remain as neutrally sympathetic as he can. “I don’t want to get into it, but… Reiko’s been pretty sad, even if she didn’t get to grow up with him that much. I probably won’t be at the station tomorrow, by the way. I’ll be at the service.”

“I’ll let them know,” Tatsuya says, and Tamaki smiles a little.

“I’ve already told them, silly. No need to do that.” Her eyes are caught by the approaching duo of Lisa and Eikichi. “Oh - are you friends of Tatsuya’s?”

“You bet,” Lisa says, basket full of a single brand of energy drink formula - even if he was paying attention, Tatsuya wouldn’t recognize the label. “Who are you?”

“Tamaki Uchida - I work with Tatsuya at the station,” Tamaki says, bowing as best she can with a bustling bouquet of angelic white. “I’d stick around, but I should get these to Reiko before they start to need water. I’ll see you next week, Tatsuya.”

He nods, a stiff “See you,” passed along with a wave. As Reiko walks towards the exit, Eikichi leads the three of them towards the lines of registers, occupying himself with a boxed container of water. Lisa loops her arm through Tatsuya’s, and he doesn’t have the focus to tell her to let go.

He thinks, deep to himself, of the mangled expression Ideo was left when he dragged himself off of his beaten corpse - the gouges in his skin and the swelling of his jaw, steel hooks that ripped the life out of him all for the demand of a man who had never met him. Tatsuya had just begun to push it from his thoughts - lingering on the precipice of his mind and subconscious, distant, removed. For several days it had been moved, but the flowers for Tamaki’s girlfriend returned the reality of what he did to the front of his thoughts once more.

Like an angry ghost.

Tatsuya asks Eikichi to sit in the passenger seat, to be alone with his thoughts.

* * *

 

“You said he didn’t have any family,” Tatsuya snaps into his phone before Reiji Kido can even slur out a greeting.

 _“Correction: I said he didn’t have any family associates.”_ He can’t tell what he’s doing, but Tatsuya realizes he doesn’t want to even know. He could be cutting a man’s throat open, could have a gun to the head of a child, could be in the vault of the Bank of Liberty and he wouldn’t want to know, wouldn’t want to think of whatever terrible thing Reiji Kido is doing. _“He also didn’t talk to any of his family. He doesn’t talk to his mother, his father died a few years ago - look him up. Why does it matter?”_

Tatsuya’s silence is marked by heavy, deep breathing, and Reiji must be rolling his eyes. _“Look. You weren’t supposed to kill him, I know. I’ll needle Inaba some more so he can bear the burden of fucking it up. But he was going to die anyway, Suou.”_

“He didn’t have to die,” Tatsuya says, gripping tight a fist and leaning against the wall of his apartment. “You wanted him dead. That doesn’t mean he was going to die.”

_“Toudou and Inaba were there. If it wasn’t you, it was going to be one of them. You wouldn’t want to make Toudou do that, would you?”_

“Bastard!” Tatsuya pushes himself off the wall to pace to the other side, staring out the window in a furious whirl of panic and frustration. The burden of what bears on him sits deep in his chest, aching and swelling and threatening to choke him. Tatsuya runs his hand down his face as Reiji continues, speaking clear and calm, yet taunting all the same.

 _“I know what I am and what I’m doing, Suou. Our work isn’t finished.”_ The creak of a chair sighing when someone sits up - Reiji must be pacing somewhere, and Tatsuya can imagine him lingering outside his apartment window. _“You want me to wait while you write it down?”_

“What the hell makes you think I’ll work for you again?!”

 _“Because this time, Inaba’s not going to be on the fucking gun, so you don’t have to be the one to smash the poor fuck’s head in! If you don’t -”_ Reiji’s furious tone settles itself, and the crystal clear, sinister prodding returns. _“I turn myself in, and you lose it all. Winning battles, winning wars, you understand?”_

“Get to it.”

_“Her name is Chizuru Ishigami. She’s an actress, but I can’t say I’ve seen anything she’s in recently. She lives in a mansion in Beachgate, on the other side of town. You’ll be doing the same thing you did with Hazama - taking everything on her laptop, sort through her office, or wherever she keeps it.”_

“Is she another financially corrupt socialite? Or are you going to tell me what she’s really doing?”

 _“What are you talking about? Hazama **was** financially corrupt. No, this woman isn’t like that, but you’re to do it anyway. I’m getting **very** tired of reminding you of our agreements, Suou.”_ Reiji’s voice is as irritating as they come, and it remains clear in Tatsuya’s ear as he glances around, walking inside of his bedroom to his bedside drawer. Inside, he sifts through several empty envelopes placed, to recover the papers swiped from the late Ideo Hazama’s laptop bag.

The bag remains in Reiji’s possession. Everything he possibly needs is on the machine, anyway. “Keep talking,” Tatsuya says, cradling his cellphone against his shoulder and ear as he begins to separate envelope from document. He didn’t bother to look at the names of any letter, or the title of any document - but maybe there’s something here.

_“I’m afraid it’s got to be a more hands-on excursion. Make it a little less bloody this time, please. I like your quick thinking, but I don’t want you to get too excited, Suou. You understand?”_

“Of course,” Tatsuya says, opening a once-torn envelope to remove the letter inside - a bill, from the Bank of Liberty. He takes note of the man Hazama sent payment toward - Takahisa Kandori. “I have a question.”

_“Yeah?”_

Tatsuya takes pause. Then, he considers there needs to be a little more prodding. “… Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.”

_“Whatever. I’ll call you again when Toudou and I scope her place and give you a route. Bye-bye.”_

Tatsuya drops his phone into his bed, and opens another half-closed letter, stuck shut with a drying mailing sticker. The name Takahisa Kandori crops up every couple of letters, and his mouth falls to a pensive frown at the repeated bank payments. It would help if Tatsuya could recognize the name - he crosses his bedroom to his open laptop, tapping the power button to wake it from sleep, folding his hands and pressing his mouth against them while he waits for his computer to wake.

He types the man’s name into the search bar - and he is surprised to discover a lengthy search.

He clicks a page - president of _Saeki Electronics, Biological & Energy Corporation_. A news article - _Chizuru Ishigami Finds Love in Wealthy Businessman_. Another article - _Takahisa Kandori Delivers Keynote At Swiss Summit._

Chizuru must be his fiancée. The information regarding the Swiss summit fails to interest Tatsuya, but he does note it lacks any obvious corruption - associating oneself with the Nanjo Conglomerate at international keynotes, however interesting they may be, does not necessarily indicate criminal activity.

Publicly, at least.

Tatsuya isn’t quite sure he is prepared to uncover the skeletons hanging in Nanjo closets, however. SEBEC is smaller, much smaller - that much he knows, even without being familiar with the business empires of the country. The tab bar of his internet browser becomes crowded with various articles quickly - surface links to Chizuru herself, news reports of the late Ideo, pictures of Kandori smiling.

Tatsuya stares at the image included with a public dossier. Scruffy hair, black. A wide smile. Japanese. All black clothing. The shape of his nose seems familiar.

Tatsuya frowns, and glances back at his phone. He considers, for just a moment…

And then returns to his computer, glancing at a tab involving Chizuru. He can always ask later. He’ll _have_ to ask later.


	12. the empress assassination

The winding neighbourhood streets of Beachgate introduces Tatsuya to a wholly different atmosphere than the surrounding Hove Beach. Where other buildings linger between decay and urban dread, casting long dark shadows over the streets of downtown Broker, inside of Beachgate’s fences there are flourishing gardens that surround beautiful mansions. He glances at the front porch of each home, watching blinds close over the quiet homesteads, while Naoya pulls the car down a street illuminated only by the street lamps along the roads, the lights within each home dimming as the peak of midnight draws over the city.

“Does she live on this street?” he asks, not glancing at Naoya.

“No - she’s down the other block. At the end of the road, right next to the cliffs.” Naoya doesn’t seem to look at him either, eyes on the dark street, watching for anyone crossing. “You’ll be walking again. Short walk. I’ll pull to the first turn out of this street and pick you up when you get out.”

Naoya leans forward on the steering wheel, mindful of where his chest settles. He folds his arms and rests his chin in the crook of one. "Assuming it all goes well this time."

“What do you mean _this time?”_ He cuts his question with a surge of defensive anger, looking at Naoya and narrowing his eyes. “I had to do what Inaba failed to do-”

“I meant running out of the place and having a breakdown over it,” Naoya interrupts, returning the glare with his own flat stare. His eyes catch in the moonlight, a glint that reminds Tatsuya of an animal watching from its perch, face half obscured by his arms. Tatsuya clenches a fist in his lap, but doesn’t raise it, or his voice. Naoya’s stare falters. He visibly grimaces. “… I know it was Masao’s fault. I don’t blame you for that.”

“Ye you are,” Tatsuya says, gritting his teeth and hissing through them, “Do you think I wanted to do that, Naoya? You think I, of _all_ people, am holding some twisted desire to beat a man’s skull in on his balcony?” He leans just a little bit closer. “Is that _really_ what you think of me when I’m _risking myself_  to help you?”

Silence casts over them until Naoya finally looks back to the street. The distance Naoya tried to push between them seems to vanish, a humbled glance lingering in Naoya’s eyes. Tatsuya reaches behind into the backseat of the car, feeling along the floor for a small zipped pistol holster, and arms the gun in his lap. He pushes the clip in with a frustrated shove, and cocks it without lifting his eyes.

Naoya looks at him when he reaches back once more, and leans himself back against his car seat. Tatsuya doesn’t want to know how Naoya sees him anymore, and finds his helmet to slip over his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“For insulting my integrity?” Tatsuya asks, adjusting how the sleek black helmet sits on his chin.

“For this whole situation.” It makes Tatsuya take pause, and he briefly offers Naoya a cursory glance, obscuring his lingering frustration and sympathy behind the black visor. Its glossy surface reflects what little moonlight glimpses into their car, and he's thankful he's unreadable. Naoya’s glance trails off past Tatsuya and into the street outside his window. “And for insulting your integrity.”

Tatsuya opens the car door and steps a foot out on to the road.

“Good luck,” Naoya says, and Tatsuya closes the door without looking back.

* * *

 An elite neighbourhood like Beachgate is quiet at night. Doors are locked, and nobody glances out of their windows. It makes Tatsuya wonder about the differences between the people of Broker when he steps over a window edge and into a dining room.

The dining room is crowned with a chandelier, gold and embellished with gemstones that he, for a fleeting moment, questions if they are glass or diamond. He begins his walk through the interior, passing an open door frame that leads into the foyer of the estate. Paintings watch him through the darkness, taking each quiet step over deep maroon carpets leading to the open area that greets the front door. Tatsuya looks up the grand staircase, illuminated in parts by the open windows high above the glass panelled door. The foyer is bathed in deep blue moonlight, turning white marble into delicate blue and red colours into streaks of black.

Her office extends off of her bedroom, but has its own door. It will be made of glass, so he was told.

Tatsuya begins his ascent. The pistol is steady in his hand, held down towards the stairs, mercifully led by a long carpet much like the main path of the foyer. He closes his eyes to take a deep breath in, then opens them when he reaches the top of the staircase. The landing stretches into three hallways, but one is quickly met with a glass door that follows into a dark office. Tatsuya trails towards it, reaching a gloved hand to the golden handle, and turns it - carefully. It swings open silently.

It’s difficult to discern what he’s looking at in the darkness. He steps inside, and opens his visor to look around, squinting to adjust his eyes the the lack of light. Chizuru Ishigami’s office is well organized, and it reminds him of Hazama’s - a bookcase, a desk with a closed laptop, a loveseat with a novel on top of it. The difference is the open doorway that leads into a dark room - but Tatsuya can hear gentle breathing, the sound of a sleeping woman. Carefully, he pockets the pistol.

Dread bobs sadly inside of his chest. He distances himself from the coming bloodshed by looking for her laptop’s bag, and slowly, with great ease, begins to pack up her belongings.

The darkness makes it very difficult to see what he has to collect - Tatsuya guesses most of it must be important in some way, with how most papers cluster at the left side of the laptop’s spot. He gathers everything on her desk that has some kind of writing in it, tucking some of the envelopes in between the computer’s keyboard and screen. The bag is zippered, and he takes a great deal to open and close it with patience - as he might when stacking cards together.

Or treating a broken bone. Who knows anymore?

He wants to sit in the office chair behind him, but he doesn’t. The draw of exhaustion sweeps over him, and he sighs into his helmet, and removes the pistol from his pocket once again while slipping the laptop bag off the desk. He approaches the doorway into the master bedroom, when the door in front of him creaks, and he halts.

A little girl - no older than ten - walks inside. The shadow of night swallows Tatsuya whole when he freezes, staring at the child - mercifully, she doesn’t notice him even a little, and approaches the bed of Chizuru Ishigami. Tatsuya takes the moment to turn away from the door frame, resting against the wall next to it. His heart pounds in his ears when the bed rustles.

“Mommy?” the little girl whispers, shaking Chizuru’s blanket. The dread in Tatsuya sinks deep inside him, while Chizuru stirs awake.

 _“Mm - yes?_ Mai?” Chizuru lifts herself from her pillow, her voice thick with sleep. “Are you alright?”

“Mommy,” she says again, like taking a hammer to Tatsuya’s moral compass. “I can’t sleep… there’s too much noise outside.”

“Too much noise?” Chizuru’s voice is gentle, nurturing - she seems to lift herself out of bed properly, and he can hear her rise. “What do you mean? It’s late at night - everyone’s in bed. Is your window open again?”

Silence. The little girl named Mai nods her head, and Chizuru begins to walk her towards the bedroom door with a sigh to her words. “Let’s get you back in bed, you have school tomorrow.”

Her hand on the girl’s shoulder, Chizuru leads her through the open door and past the glass one that Tatsuya lingers so close to. He can feel the tension in his throat, staring into the dark hallway like the light is pouring in from every golden chandelier hanging in the mansion. He watches her disappear into shadow around a corner to the other hallways that Tatsuya noticed, and in his silence, stares down at the gun in his hand.

_She’s a mother._

He grips it tight enough to make his hand tremble. She’s a mother, he reminds himself, as he steps into her bedroom, stopping and taking several steps back once more, distress creeping up on him like a cold mist. Tatsuya stares into the darkest corner of Chizuru’s bedroom and wonders if he could stand there before she returns to sleep, and he wonders if he could even bring himself to pull the trigger.

He doesn’t know where Mai’s bedroom is, but it can’t be too far. He rushes across the bedroom as quick and quiet as he can, and immediately unlocks and opens the bedroom window. Hedges rest far below the window he looks out of, and with enough of a prayer that the whole machine doesn’t break on impact, he drops the bag out the window below, hearing the rustle of branches cushioning its fall distantly.

The door behind him begins to open. _She’s a mother._ Tatsuya backs up back into shadow, and finds himself taking several steps into an open walk in closet, soft with the scent of laundry. He lingers far from her bed, and sees her slip back under the covers in a long nightgown, cuddling close to a large pillow. The gun in his hand feels much heavier. She’s a mother.

Tatsuya tries to think that her children will hear, and that will jeopardize his escape. But he can’t cut it that coldly, can’t give it to himself like that - he didn’t see the girl, but he thinks of her like a little Tamaki Uchida, staring at the grave of another dead body in the field of the dead. Just a body. A body buried in the ground.

He touches the safety on his gun, but relaxes his hand. He takes a slow, quiet breath, and waits.

With closed eyes, Tatsuya leans his head back, staring into the black static of his vision. He lingers there, waiting for the curtain of sleep to befall his target, and when he thinks there’s been enough time and her gentle breathing is enough, makes slow steps from the shroud of night to the window once more. He leans his head out, and measures his fall.

There’s enough of the hedges.

Hopefully.

The window isn’t too tight of a fit out, but he still watches where his body slips out of, mindful of knocking into the frame. Tatsuya has himself bent in a curious position on the windowsill, and with a deep breath, leaps from the window, bracing himself for impact when he crashes into the hedges, feeling branches and leaves poke and rustle against his clothing. The gun drops somewhere beside him, and the laptop bag digs into one of his legs. He coughs something like a grunt of pain, heaving with a fist to his chest.

Tatsuya wastes no time gathering both and hurrying around the mansion’s exterior and past the open gate, stumbling until he catches his footing. He keeps to shadow, but doesn’t have time to look back and see if he woke her - he just runs, runs and breathes into the mouth of his helmet, until he sees the peek of Naoya’s car at a crosswalk.

He’s in the passenger seat and barely putting a seatbelt on when Naoya presses the gas pedal and sharply turns the corner.

“Quiet enough,” Naoya remarks, “You seem a little more composed. Did everything go alright in there?”

The little voice of Mai Ishigami seems to rattle inside Tatsuya’s head. “Yeah. Hard to see in the dark.”

Naoya makes some sound of acknowledgement, humming and keeping his eyes on the road. “Reiji messaged me and told me he’s awake and eager to hear about results. So, we’re going to his place.”

“His _actual_ place, or one of the many he seems to have?” Tatsuya asks, the bitterness of his words weak, removed.

“Told me to take you to the place nearby, so we might just be in luck.” Naoya glances over at him while he removes the helmet as they pull to the entrance of Beachgate. “Are you _sure_ you’re alright?”

Tatsuya looks at him with the night’s exhaustion trailing under his eyes. “We’ll see.”


	13. family ties

The apartment building itself is surrounded by Russian businesses in the Hove Beach area, down the road from the boardwalk. He looks at the lifted paper wrappers and tumbling tin cans rolling in a gentle wind when he steps out of Naoya’s car, rolling the helmet once in his lap back into the seat he was once occupying.

As the night continues to crawl over the city, silence holds itself in the streets, a quiet blanket that lowers its buzz to a quiet murmur. Few people walk the sidewalks, and even fewer businesses offer any light as the peak of midnight comes - Tatsuya only eyes Naoya in the dim lamppost light once, before he opens a door and gestures him inside.  
It’s a hallway with a short flight of stairs, and a door to the right wall. At the top of the stairs, there is another door, which Naoya knocks on.

“Small place,” Tatsuya remarks.

“Smaller than mine,” Naoya replies. As silence draws into the building once more, they can hear Reiji moving inside the apartment. There’s a pause before the door opens to Reiji’s grin. He’s in pajama pants and a dirty shirt.

“Come in, gentlemen,” he says, closing the door behind them with a distanced swing.

It’s small. _Very_ small. The furniture is sparse, but it remains cramped with boxes and cluttered along the wall and built up near the small couch that faces an equally small television setup. Unlabeled boxes, and unsealed. It’s an endeavor to cross the room and hit the couch, but Tatsuya manages to even with Naoya kicking his heels, and he’s quick to move over to give him room.

“Nice of you to drop by,” Reiji says, trailing over to the kitchenette area and lifting a cup of coffee that was sitting on the counter. “Everything go smoothly?”

“Seemed to,” Tatsuya responds.

“No _surprises_ to wake up to?”

“None at all.”

“Good. You’re getting better each time.” Reiji tips his head back, taking a long sip of the coffee as he treads over. “So - what do you have for me?”

Tatsuya places the laptop case on his lap. “More receipts. Letters and bills. The same names keep coming up.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Yamamoto Yuriko, Makimura Youichi, Tanaka Hiroto, Kandori Takahisa…” Tatsuya looks up from the letters and peper crammed withing the case to watch him - Reiji doesn’t budge. “Do any of those names mean anything?”

“Tanaka is that scummy CEO, right?” Naoya asks, and Reiji shrugs, taking another sip of his coffee.

“He’s not important to me. The others? Maybe. I’ll have to keep looking.”

“Hazama knew most of these people as well.” Tatsuya preses. He reaches in and pulls out a letter addressed to Takahisa Kandori directly, frowning. “He paid this man a lot - Kandori. Do you know what kind of businesses they ran?”

“Electrical companies. Hazama was an investor in some of his projects.” Reiji glances at Naoya for a moment, a wave of suspicion rolling over him. Naoya pointedly glances away. “He put a lot of money in a project that Kandori started.”

“What was the project?” Tatsuya asked.

“No idea.”

Something in Tatsuya stops, like a frustrating gear that decided to break.

“Is this something you do _intentionally?”_ Tatsuya’s voice cuts sharper pushing the briefcase off his lap and to the side, cramming it against Naoya’s leg. Naoya quietly moves it to the coffee table between them and Reiji. “You’re awfully vague whenever I ask you a question.”

Reiji narrows his eyes and glares at him, hard. “Do you think I’ve forgotten who you are, Suou? I know exactly what you want to do when you ask those kinds of questions and what you’ll do with what I tell you.”

“I’m not _insidious!”_ he proclaims, leaning forward - Reiji stands up, and soon Tatsuya is on his feet as well. “You’re vague, and hiding truths from the people who work for you - you’re hiding what your goal is and I am asking what it _is!”_

“What makes you thinks you get the right to know?” Reiji takes a large step towards Tatsuya, and the two men are immediately intervened by Naoya, who stands and quickly comes between them to hold Reiji back. “You do ask I ask, Suou, until I decide when you can find out everything!”

“Kandori Takahisa!” Tatsuya eventually shouts over him, scathing and rough. “Is he connected? Both Hazama _and_ Ishigami are directly contacting him, and if you’re going at him one by one-”

 _“You’re_ not connected to him, are you?” Reiji interrupts with a sharp question of his own, tinged with suspicion and apprehension. “I’ll have the two of you floating upside down in the harbour by sunrise if you’ve been -”

“I’m asking you who he _is,_ Kido!” Tatsuya is pushed back by Naoya when he shouts once more, pressing both hands against the chests of two men. He doesn’t look at either of them directly, staring at nothing in the room. “A _businessman?_ You’re not even _close_ to any of the _business_ he does, so I want to hear the truth!”

Reiji finally takes a step back from Naoya’s limiting arm, and quickly makes a diving reach for the bag on the table. He’s immediately grabbed by both men and pushed back into his seat. Maybe Naoya thought he was about to tackle Tatsuya - Tatsuya could at least see where his eyes were trailing.

“Tell me!” Tatsuya demands once more, as both men hold him against the arm chair, a ripped patch of the fabric coughing with dust and traces of stuffing. “Who is he?! Is he the one you’re hunting through all of these people?”

Reiji steadies himself, his glare towards both men sharper than any knife. He grips the arm of the chair, as well as his teeth, before settling his stare on Tatsuya. The silence stings, and it settles between the three.

“Yes, he is.” Reiji’s caution is noted. He speaks slowly; measuring what he says and saying it carefully. “Him and I have history. He’s - my brother.”

“You’re kidding,” Tatsuya says, harsh and with a sigh. The pause feels like Reiji’s waiting for a harder accusation. Tatsuya’s brow furrows, and then Reiji continues.

“He hasn’t contacted us - me - for years. Only time he did was to take the inheritance from our father when _he_ died, and left.”

“Are you just looking for revenge?” Naoya asks. Reiji hones the glare on to Naoya.

“I’m looking to kill a man who left his family, bled businesses all over the country, laundered all the money out of our bank, and killed his own to advance himself - the kind of revenge I want is going to be personal.” Reiji leans on his knees and stares between the two men. Tatsuya takes a seat and mirrors his posture, a tense frown furrowing his expression.

“And Hazama?” Tatsuya asks. “Ishigami?”

“Associates of his. Close friend, fiancee…” Reiji looks down at the table, at nothing, at everything lain out. “I want him to know _someone’s_ coming.”

“Wouldn’t he know it’s you?”

“He’s twenty years older than me. He was running away after beating on my mother when I was born.” He sighs. “He doesn’t know I’m in the city.”

“Are you certain?”

Reiji suddenly laughs. “I have guys on the inside. I know.”

Naoya glances down at Tatsuya, who keeps his own at the man across from them. Tatsuya’s eyes roam down to where Reiji stares, at the laptop case and the papers peeking out from within, and he finds himself thinking about how much of an exit he made last night. Briefly, he wonders how long Ishigami will notice her missing equipment - the lack of a body in the house is something Reiji might notice, but a missed robbery is something he’d rather.

He wonders, as Reiji gathers up the bag, and tucks the loose paper back in.

“You’re still going to be  _working_  for me, right?” he asks, with the clear expectation of no barter or discussion.

But Tatsuya responds, “Of course.” Clear and bold and not at all an endeared lie to satisfy Reiji.

Reiji notices. He looks at Tatsuya curiously, and nods sagely.

"We'll talk tomorrow."

* * *

  
“Did you sleep at _all_ last night?”

Tatsuya opens his eyes and glances over his shoulder at Katsuya. His head presses against the cool glass of the car, which is particularly chilly against his forehead. Katsuya doesn’t turn his gaze for long, soon glancing back to the road.

“Yes,” Tatsuya lies. “Just woke up with a sore neck.”

“Uh-huh.” They turn a stoplight, driving in the glare of the morning sun. “Just let me know if you get too tired. I’ll try to get you on easy work.”

“How kind of you.”

“Tatsuya, I’m _trying_ to be _nice.”_

The younger of he two brothers rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the drifting city that moves past them outside. Katsuya, in his dread of tension and silence, turns on the radio, catching the last words of a morning broadcast.

_“-ervices for Ideo Hazama concluded with a public viewing, followed by the private burial for his family. Those present include his extended family, who sources say he had no been in contact with for several years. He will be remembered for all the work he has done for Liberty City’s banking structure.”_

“I wouldn’t go around saying that,” Katsuya remarks. Tatsuya feels a knot in his throat.

_“Police continue to investigate the one responsible for the brutal murder and robbery of Liberty City’s most infamous business figures. No information has been shared with the public, but investigators ask that anyone with information should come forward-”_

“Tamaki went yesterday, right?” Tatsuya asks, the desperation of his question going unnoticed by his brother.

“The funeral? Yes. Her girlfriend is - well, was his sister.” Katsuya scratches the side of his neck. “Or, half-sister? I’m not sure the difference. I don’t know what to do about it. Nothing points us in the right direction…”

Katsuya’s musing trails into silence, murmured under his breath and only half directed to Tatsuya. The radio continues with an unrelated story, breaking between tragedy and pop icon dramatics without a second to lose. It reties the knot in his throat; he tries to alleviate the anxious pressure by rolling down his window and trailing his hand towards his pocket, looking for a box.

“Tonight you’ll be on your own,” Katsuya suddenly says, glancing over - only to make a face when he sees Tatsuya has found his lighter. “I’m going out.”

“Don’t tell me you got another date,” Tatsuya responds, cigarette already in his mouth.

“Sometimes people like me,” his brother sneers, turning the corner sharply enough to remain civil on the road but coarse enough to knock Tatsuya around, making him miss the lighter ignition. “She’s a very nice woman. I’ll introduce you some time.”

“I can go without.”

“Why? You haven’t even met her.”

“I’d hate to be a conversation topic that she brings up when you’re trying to sleep with her.”

Katsuya’s glare is vicious enough that Tatsuya only smiles against the door of the car.

“I’m going to kick you out of my car one of these days,” he murmurs.


	14. the kingpin assassination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to apologize for any delay you may have dealt with between chapters, but i'm happy to deliver a long chapter to compensate! thank you all for being patient!

Tatsuya’s realized that whenever Lisa looks at him like that, she’s trying to make him feel bad.

 _“Tatsuya,”_ Lisa half-whines, defeated and deflated. “You’re _always_ working.”

It’s mostly in her frown - it lingers loose on her face, her lips gently turned downward to not crease her pretty features. When she’s really upset, you can almost watch her try to compose herself all at once. It’s all about her appearance, but at least she fixates more on health than something superficial. At least.

At least, when she’s not trying to get something out of Tatsuya. Which is exactly what she’s doing right now.

“People who have jobs tend to do that, Lisa,” Tatsuya replies, taking the straw of his iced coffee and stirring the remnants of frozen slush. He can see her glower when he glances up at her through his brow.

“Now you sound just like Eikichi,” Lisa remarks, bringing her own coffee to her mouth, pausing before she drinks. “Do you think I don’t have a _real_ job or something?”

“Of _course_ you have a real job-”

“Then you should get what I mean! My point is that you’re _always_ working! It’s a miracle you and I even got to go out today!”

“Then let me rephrase what I meant-” Tatsuya leans back. He gives her a stare to match her own terse one. “The police tend to do that.”

Lisa rolls her eyes and her frown twists to the same irritated sneer she gives Eikichi when he’s saying something particularly stupid. There’s a lukewarm toasted bagel in front of Tatsuya, and he occupies himself with his mediocre lunch while the silence of Lisa’s anger lingers between them like a threat. He takes a bite, wipes bread off his mouth, and then speaks again.

“My brother has me working on a specific case, which is taking up a lot of my time these days.”

“How are things with that?”

“Complicated.”

Lisa takes her coffee cup and holds it to her mouth, looking down through the slit of the plastic lid at whatever remains inside. When she returns to looking at Tatsuya, her stare is a little softer.

“When are you free next?” She asks, resting her chin of her free hand.

“Who knows,” He replies - and it’s only a half-lie.

“I’m so over hearing that answer, Tatsuya.”

“Get used to hearing it for a little while longer.”

Lisa audibly groans this time. Bringing her coffee back with her as she leans in their patio seat, she throws it back and finishes it with a strong swig. As she glowers at the sky, Tatsuya feels a rumble in his pocket, and pulls out his phone at the incoming message.

_Kido told me the time._

Tatsuya swipes the message open and replies to Naoya with, _for the job?_

“Who are you texting?” Lisa asks, with the touch of worry. Tatsuya’s starting a track record of dodging dates and dinners with unexpected phone calls, after all.

_Yeah. We should talk abt it in person tho. Where do you want to meet?_

“Just someone from work,” he says - and again, it’s only half a lie.

_i don’t know. your apartment? not mine._

_Sure._

“Are you going to be leaving again?”

“That time it was an emergency,” Tatsuya mutters, pocketing his phone and pushing the tear stained face of Maki Sonomura creeping to his vision. “No. I don’t have to go anywhere.”

Lisa kicks his ankle under the table, playful. “Good. You don’t get to leave me this time.”

Once more, Tatsuya gives her a tentative stare. Lisa returns it with a smirk of her own.

“I have my lessons soon, though,” she says, index finger balancing the plastic lid of her empty cup against the table, leaning it on an edge. “About an hour. You wanna come watch me? You can meet me instructor.”

“Will you get angry at me if I _do_ have to leave halfway?”

Lisa’s smirk starts to waver, but saves its collapse with a sigh, looking away from Tatsuya and to a car that rolls past the shop. “I guess there’s no point in trying to make you stay if you’re going to be busy.”

“I don’t intend for it,” Tatsuya says, following her gaze but slowly shifting away, glancing more at the ground and the way his hands start to curl in his lap. “It’s - just being busy. I’ll be more available soon.”

He looks up at her, as if to apologize, or as if to hold off a secret that he doesn’t want to bear - and feels an odd relief when her phone rings and she fishes i from her pocket. The ring tone is a pop song he recognizes, but can’t say he actually cares for. Lisa answers, continuing to avert her eyes from Tatsuya. “Hey, Ulala. What’s up?”

The silence settles between them, like water down the cracks of broken stone. Tatsuya glances back to Lisa, and then away when he sees her face crumple and she glares at someone across the street. “Seriously? I was looking forward to today’s - ugh, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

She leans back in her seat, arm tucking up under her elbow to curl into herself. “No, I’m fine, it’s not that big of a deal - just…” she looks at Tatsuya, frown kept.

“Disappointed.”

Tatsuya feels an overwhelming urge to stand up. He takes his remaining iced coffee and throws it out in a garbage bin as he leaves the store, and he can hear Lisa continue: “A _date,_ huh? What I’d _give_ to get a date these days.”

He opens his phone to the last notification from Naoya - _be there soon._ \- and leads himself to his motorcycle.

* * *

 

Maki smiles at him, but the joy from his first visit is all but nonexistent.

“They’re in the living room,” she says, and then immediately begins to walk back into the apartment, leaving the door hanging open. Tatsuya’s greeting lingers in his mouth, and then he sighs, entering and removing his shoes.

While shuffling inside, he manages to step in line with Maki, who looks at him, forlorn. Her eyes glance down to his socks. “You could have kept them on. You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”

Tatsuya shrugs. “I want to be polite.”

Maki looks up at him again. Though not obviously tired, there’s a frustration in her eyes that crosses him as a hidden misery; or maybe it’s frustration. Maybe it’s both. He knows to not just ask what burdens another person, but with every step closer to the living room, Tatsuya starts to think he already has the answer. Maki turns away from him to step into the kitchen as Tatsuya rounds the wooden frame.

Reiji Kido sits in the chair furthest from the door. A pistol rests in his left hand, which hangs down the side of the chair. Tatsuya thinks about Naoya and Masao cornered by that chair just weeks prior. He briefly thinks about how Reiji could sit there with a smoking gun and three cold bodies if Tatsuya was a minute too short.  
He tries not to think about that anymore when Reiji looks at him. Masao’s the one to speak, from the couch.

“Yo, Tatsuya. Naoya’s on his way back.” Masao doesn’t look up - he’s instead on his phone, scrolling through whatever social feed he’s occupying himself with. “You been run down yet?”

Tatsuya looks at him, incredulous. It takes him a moment to consider. “… I was told to show up and we’d talk in person.”

“That sounds like Toudou; always asking to do it face to face,” Reiji says, and he watches Tatsuya take a seat by Masao’s feet. The way Reiji looks at him makes Tatsuya think he knows he’s staring at the gun, and he strains his grip on it some more. “We’re going to meet my brother.”

“Already? What happened to your old approach?”

Reiji’s stare hardens. “Since you didn’t kill his fiancée, I’m going ahead with what we’ve dug up from their computers.” Tatsuya glances away from him momentarily, and Reiji’s laugh is little more than a sharp sneer. “You thought I’d overlook that, didn’t you?”

“Her children were there,” Tatsuya mutters. Out of the corner of his eye, Masao seems to sink a little farther into the couch, becoming coincidentally enraptured in something on his phone.

“Those aren’t _her_ kids.” Reiji looks away from him, out the window to the city. “They’re Kandori’s. She’s their stepmother.”

“That still makes the children hers, Reiji.” Tatsuya leans forward on his knees, finding it in him to keep his stare fixated on the other man. “They’re your nieces, you should have-”

“That bastard’s not family anymore,” Reiji snaps back, looking Tatsuya in the eye and gesturing towards him with the gun. Tatsuya feels the pull of his hands towards his hip, but holds himself back long enough to remind himself he’s not armed - and Reiji’s finger is off the trigger. “I don’t have to pretend I care about them - I just want their father dead.”

Tatsuya says nothing - he watches Reiji, quietly and careful, as he scans the room to look back at Masao, then away to an insignificant corner. Tatsuya leans back in the couch, his own gaze rising to the ceiling. He notes the door opening, and the murmur of Maki greeting her lover, but he only looks over to Naoya when he’s about to enter the room. He can see Maki lingering behind him, smiling for the first time he’s been here, before she turns and returns to her bedroom.

“Sorry about that,” Naoya says, walking to stand between Reiji and Tatsuya. Masao sits up. “Maki wanted-… just some errands.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Reiji says, sitting up like Masao to lean forward, cradling the gun in both hands now. “You’ve got room in your trunk for everything, right, Toudou?”

“We should. There’s enough space in the backseat for whatever you want to bring with you, as well.”

Reiji nods, distant for a passing moment. He pulls out his phone and glances at the time. “Two. We’re leaving much later.”

“Why’d you bring us together so early, then?” Masao asks, earning a stare from Reiji.

“So I could adequately prepare someone like you.”

* * *

  
Night draws over Liberty City slowly, in the growing heat of summer’s long days. Burnt, drained cigarettes take up the little blue devil ash tray, shared between each of the men in the living room. By the coming hour, a thin veneer of smoke lingered in the air, even with an open window. Maki has made herself scarce ever since bringing Naoya into the living room.

Tatsuya’s kept himself in the doorway for the last hour or so. Masao and Reiji have taken up the couch, and are sharing one last cigarette in front of the television, which was talking about a body found in the alleyway of Maisonette 9, a club owned by someone named _Andre Laurent Jean Geraux_ , or _Bebe,_ as the television anchor explained. Reiji says something about his brother knowing that man, but Tatsuya doesn’t really care to listen.

He sees Maki leave the bathroom and turn towards her bedroom. She sees him, but pretends not to see him, and Tatsuya returns the gesture, instead bringing his hand to his mouth like he had a cigarette between his fingers. He looks into the kitchen, at the grout between the tiles and the edge of a circular table that seems to have no chairs.  
Naoya taps his shoulder.

“You hear?”

“No, I was - thinking. What is it?”

“We’re going now,” Reiji says, checking his pistol’s grip, and then holstering it inside of his suit jacket. “Inaba’s going to bring the bags out with him. Follow me, Suou.”

Tatsuya allows the three men to pass him before he follows behind Reiji, spying Naoya opening the door to his shared bedroom and leaving the door open slightly ajar. As he passes, Tatsuya sees him holding Maki, arms around her shoulders, kissing her forehead.

“I’ll check they’re all ready,” Masao says, loud enough to break Tatsuya’s spying. Reiji leads Tatsuya outside of the apartment, and closes the door behind them.

“What’s in their bags?” Tatsuya asks, but expects the answer before Reiji even speaks.

“Our equipment,” Reiji says. “We’re not going in shooting, but we’re still going to be prepared.”

“Do I dare I ask where you got our _equipment?”_

“Don’t worry about it.”

Tatsuya allows Reiji to walk down the stairs before him, before Reiji glances up behind him, hand pausing on the banister. He shrugs.

“San Andreas. Happy?”

“I suppose.”

The glare is short lived.

Both men exit the building and walk the short length to the parking spot directly next to the apartment’s small exterior, with Reiji immediately taking his place in the front passenger seat of the car. Tatsuya quietly sits behind him, in the back seat. When closing the door, he stares into the back of his accomplice’s headrest, looking at Reiji’s extremely curly hair frame the old, gently worn fabric. He listens to his steady breathing - Tatsuya finds he doesn’t want to think about what’s going through Reiji’s head.

Maybe Reiji feels the same. Maybe he’s questioning Tatsuya sitting behind him.

The silence is potent. It lingers between both men; as cars occasionally pass the road in front of the vehicle, as Masao rounds the corner with two bulging gym bags over his shoulders and directly walks to the trunk of the car. It moves the car with a low thump when Masao closes it, then enters the back seat with Tatsuya. He smiles at Tatsuya, but the reality’s set in him too, that there’s very little teeth to his smile. Tatsuya does notice that Masao’s keeping his beanie. It’s not worth the defensive comments Masao would make to say anything.

Naoya appears not too long after Masao settles himself against the door, seatbelt pulled tight over his front. Naoya carries a smaller backpack, and when he opens the driver’s door, he greets the men inside his vehicle.

“Hey. Leave these in the back with you.” Naoya hands the bag along the median of the two front seats, and when Tatsuya reaches forward to lead it between Masao and himself, it rattles with weight.

“What’s inside?” Tatsuya asks.

“Three handguns, for all of us.” He doesn’t make eye contact with Tatsuya, maybe for the best. “You can open it. You two should gear up before we get there, anyway.”

Masao pulls the bag towards the spare seat between both men, pulling it free from Tatsuya’s light grasp of the noisy bag. As the car starts, Masao pulls out one of the three handguns towards Tatsuya, staring at him. Tatsuya is hesitant to take it, until he notes that Masao is smart enough to check for the safety. He takes it, and thinks about Katsuya in the front seat, looking back at him.

More things are lifted from the bag and are shared between the two men - cable ties, holsters for four separate magazines that attach to the belt, the magazines themselves, and what appear to be plain knife handles, until Tatsuya holds one in his hand, and notes the weight, as well as the metal prongs sticking out out the handle.

Curious, Masao presses the button. A loud, harsh buzz emits from the electrified prongs, and immediately Reiji whips his head around while Naoya nearly slams on the breaks.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ, just _ask_ what something is before you _use it,”_ Reiji snaps, smacking Masao’s hand once the zap abruptly ends.

“I didn’t know what it was!” Masao insists, and gets smacked on the wrist once more, to direct the taser into the backpack.

“Just leave it _alone,_ then! I wasn’t aware I was bringing a _teenager_ with me on this job.”

Tatsuya quietly slips his own taser into his pocket, noting its weight and dreading his reality once more. He lays the magazine holsters on his lap, while Masao puts the ammunition back into the bag with the taser. The city’s slow evening rolls past them, more people clustering on the streets as the car travels closer to the centre island’s bridges. Tatsuya looks outside the window as the sun finishes its dip across the horizon, bright on the river’s reflection. Traffic lingers on the bridge, and he keeps his eyes on the sunset.

“How far’s the office building?” Masao asks, and Reiji turns his head back and glances at him.

“Once we’re over the bridge, it won’t be long.” Reiji taps his hand against the length of the door, hand curled and knuckles knocking. “My guy’s gonna meet us in the parking garage. Don’t have to talk to anyone for the ticket, either.”

“Who’s our guy?” Naoya asks.

“His name’s Kenta Yokouchi. He’s worked for me for years - he’s gotten himself cozy in SEBEC’s security, so he’ll be helping us out.” Reiji draws his gaze back out the window, looking at the sunset as well. “And he knows Kandori’s in tonight, so he’ll tell us just the right floor.”

“Is he trustworthy?”

“He’s _worked for me for years._ I’ve known him ever since I lived in San Andreas - _yes,_ he’s trustworthy.”

“Let’s hope he comes in clutch,” Masao remarks, toying with one of the box lids of the ammunition.

“Inaba - you put the helmets in the bags, right?”

“Of course - oh, yeah, Tatsuya, your helmet’s in the back,” Masao says, smiling, even when Tatsuya glances from the sunset to stare at him suspiciously. “It’s not scratched or anything. It’s a real nice helmet, you know! We’ll know which one’s yours!”

“I don’t think that’s his biggest concern, Masao,” Naoya says from the driver’s seat, keeping his eyes on the congesting roads that lead to a distant intersection. Masao shrugs, puts the bullets down, and opens his phone.

Silence soon takes the men as Naoya leads the car down short roads marked with intersections that seem to appear every minute. Mercifully - or perhaps not mercifully at all - very few red lights seem to catch them, as they drive quietly down lengths of concrete and past faceless people. The further they enter Algonquin’s districts, the more people appear on the roads and the more cars there seem to be, until they turn on to one road that opens to tall buildings casting shadows on the streets. Tatsuya follows up the length of one and stares at the peaks as best he can from inside the car.

“SEBEC’s headquarters are in Castle Garden City, before you get to the waterfront,” Reiji remarks, watching the streets outside. His hand taps faster on the door, agitated. “Look for the parking lot. It’s the only building with one.

Tatsuya closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to memorize the surroundings of the building or the neighbourhoods around it. The car seems to slow down as it enters the district’s roads, and then - it stops, before rolling downward into a garage. The dark of night begins to impose over the car, and Naoya’s turned the headlights on before he leans out of the car to pay for parking. The reflection of the headlights on the steel garage light up the interior of the vehicle, and before the garage opens, Tatsuya sees Reiji’s glower break to an eager grin.

The interior of the garage is between “sparse” and “populated” - many vehicles, expensive and elegant, are parked in most spots, with enough space between each vehicle to indicate most of the employees have gone home for the evening. The less people present, the better it is for him, Tatsuya supposes.

“Where’s Kenta? Where’s your bro’s car, boss? Wanna trash it?”

“Shut up, Inaba.” Reiji quickly has his phone out, and presses the screen once; a pre-written message, Tatsuya assumes. “He’ll be down soon. Just park anywhere. He knows what to look for.”

Turning off the headlights and pulling to a stop in a parking spot darkens the interior of the car - the stale florescent lights of the garage cannot reach the inside of Naoya’s car, so Tatsuya sits in peaceful shade before he’s made to leave. He can hear Masao begin to rustle through the bag once more, with the underground swallowing his phone’s connection.

Pistols begin to be loaded - Masao slips his pistol into his jacket before loading another one, Naoya turning around to watch him before he takes it. Even in darkness, Tatsuya can see Reiji touch and brush the gun in his hands in the front seat, observed through the space between the seat and the car. He lifts his gaze a little bit more, and sees a man exit a stairwell door.

The three men bristle, but Reiji sits up casually. “That’s him. Calm down.” Stepping out of the car, Naoya and Tatsuya follow soon after.  
Kenta Yokouchi is an overweight man and much shorter than any of the arriving men - his hair drops into his face, and his face seems swollen even beyond the weight packed into his cheeks, but his white suit is pressed, pristine, and handsome. His smile is comfortable, and he reaches a hand for Reiji to shake, which he does enthusiastically.

“Good evening, mister Kido,” Kenta says, pressing his other hand on the back of Reiji’s.

“Good to see you,” Reiji responds. “You’re going to be alright heading out, aren’t you?”

“Of course - I’ll be in contact with you the moment you leave the garage.” Behind them, Masao finally leaves the car door, backpack in his hands while he leads to the trunk.

“Are these your associates? I recognize one of them, but… is this _Suou?”_

Tatsuya looks Kenta in the eye, even as he offers a hand forward. Tentatively, Tatsuya reaches forward to shake it. Kenta’s smile is charismatic, and that makes him nervous. “It's good to finally meet you, _officer._ Reiji’s told me a number on you.”

“I’m sure he has,” Tatsuya responds. Masao takes Tatsuya’s side, holding out his black helmet, as well as the backpack, once filled with bullets and guns now emptied, save for Tatsuya’s equipment. Tatsuya slips the helmet on, first.

Kenta turns back to Reiji, withdrawing his hand. “My boss is in his office on the top floor. The entire top floor is dedicated to his personnel and security, well beyond my occupation. I will be able to cover your presence in the elevators and stairwell, but you should not exit directly into the secretary office of the top floor - perhaps the stairwell from the floor below is best.”

“Where’s his office? Close or far from the stairs?” Reiji’s eyes are on his gun - he grips it like he wants to do something with it. Kenta notices, and his expression is a little apprehensive before continuing.

“Close enough. It serves as his fire escape, after all.”

“Impressive. I thought he’d use a fucking helicopter to haul his ass out of there.” Reiji holsters his gun - slipped down the length of his leg. “If he’s not there - going for some dinner, or a piss, or something, would it most likely be locked?”

“Presumably, yes.”

“Same kind of lock throughout the building, or a unique one?”

“Again - _presumably,_ it would be different. It is a door made of simple painted wood, however. It is destructible.”

“I’ll break it down myself if I have to,” Reiji remarks, kneeling to one of the bags that Masao brought out of the car. He moves a circular blue helmet out of the way - handing it up to Naoya - and then pulls out a red one, bulky and with its visor slipped up. Reiji pulls it over his head, forcing his hair beneath it. He looks up at Kenta, who has now pressed both hands in front of him. “I’m raring to go, Kenta. You should head out.”

“I understand.” He steps to the side and allows Reiji to stand up, placing a hand on the taller man’s arm patiently. “I will return to my complex down the road. Again, if you require extraction…”

“I’m _fine._ We’ll be _fine.”_ Reiji looks at the three men behind them. He narrows his eyes, but it’s hard to tell if it is a malicious gesture, with the massive size of the helmet obscuring his face. “Get your helmets on, men. And strap up already, Suou.”

Masao kneels to the ground to retrieve the final helmet - orange and just as bulky as Reiji’s - while Tatsuya glances down into the remaining supplies of the backpack. He looks up at Reiji through his black visor, and is certain he’s looking to see if Tatsuya is glaring.

Quietly, he straps the magazine holsters to his belt, and slips his pistol into his jacket’s holster. Reiji doesn’t move anything except his head, which beckons Tatsuya over as Masao and Naoya prepare themselves. Reiji reaches up and slides the visor shut, black glass shrouding his wary stare. Tatsuya stands beside him, patient, and just as wary.

“Good luck, gentlemen,” Kenta says as he walks to his car, “I’m certain you’ll need it.”


	15. blood brothers

It takes only a moment in the illuminated stairwell below the lobby’s main floor for Kenta to call Reiji. A hand taps the side of his blue helmet, and Tatsuya notes the similar shape of his own. He looks at Masao.

“Is that the same helmet as mine?” Tatsuya mutters, dry. Masao elbows him, playful and open. The smile in his voice is aggravating.

“You like the masks? I suggested it!”

“I’m thrilled.”

“I knew you’d be!”

Reiji’s visor expresses all his irritation when he turns around. “Quiet. Kenta - tell me about B1. Can you see the elevators?”

Tatsuya directs his attention to the interior of the building.  If he wasn’t already aware of the receptionist lobby  directly  above them, he might mistake this as the entrance . The lavish detail to the tile, mirrors and pillars supporting the of the small lobby. A door stands before them, farther from the entrance, ornate and painted. The staircase upward spirals in black and white, painted wood and marble tile.

If this is the basement, he better  be impressed by  Kandori’s office.

“No, we haven’t entered yet.” Reiji glances back at his accomplices, gesturing them to follow. “Going in now. No one there? … Alright.”

Silence rolls over the four men, disrupted only by the buzz of a distant comment from within the helmet. Reiji leads them, pushing open the heavy doors, into a hallway of similar prestige. Two sets of elevators wait close to the door, across more marbled tile. Tatsuya glances around, and sees a small, circular camera node fixated on them.

Kenta mutters something, because Reiji replies to the distortion. “There shouldn’t be, should there?” He waves at the camera, and it tells him not to bother.

One of them presses the button of the elevator. Tatsuya feels the dread of someone awaiting them inside, but he keeps the fear far in his thoughts.

Reiji steps forward. “What floor? - Hm. Good.”

It doesn’t take long for the doors to slide open. To their relief, the elevator is empty, mirrored and covered in dark carpet. They filter in, and Reiji presses the button to the twentieth floor.

“Thanks,” Reiji says. Naoya looks in Reiji’s direction, interested, before he clarifies, “not you.”

A pause.

“But. This is. Personal. To me. So. I appreciate it.”

Tatsuya nods.

* * *

 

 _“The twentieth floor is vacant - the fire escape is to the left of your arrival,”_ Kenta responds. He seems to take a pause to drink something - maybe coffee. Probably coffee. A cluster of paper cups and ceramic mugs seem to always gather around his computers. _“What floor are you passing?”_

“Fifteen,” Reiji says. “How’s the stairwell?”

 _“Clear. The camera loop has you entirely covered until your arrival on the top floor.”_ Another sip. _“I heard your exchange with your companions, you know.”_

He doesn’t respond.

_“You would be better off trusting them a little more, Reiji. You do understand they are in no position to betray you, especially at this current time?”_

Reiji looks to Tatsuya’s black helmet, darkened even further by the black visor over his own eyes. Like a headless rider at his side, armed and silent. “One, not so much.”

 _“From my impression of him, Officer Suou seems rather… clear with his beliefs and the actions he will, or wants, to take.”_ Kenta adjusts how he sits. Probably in the creaking green rolling chair, with how the background static activates for a moment. _“You are in control, as you have always been.”_

“Inspiring.”

_“Please exit the elevator. You will have to climb down to the twentieth floor for escape.”_

The elevator rings, and an electronic vice guides the occupants out. Instead of cubicles, or desks, or long manufacturing belts working underpaid employees to bone and bruises, there are sparse doors on a wooden paneled wall. To the left is the escape door Kenta promised.

_“There is a woman in the hallway furthest from you, locking her door. Hurry.”_

“Shit.”

He already calculates how that will complicate the escape, if she’s leaving at all. She should be. Might be? Walking down the stairs of twenty floors - could be worse. Reiji steps to the fire escape stairwell, as Naoya, then Tatsuya, then Masao follow. Masao closes the door remarkably gentle. Orange hued service lights illuminate the stairwell, the concrete painted a dull, ugly yellow. The stairs continue to the roof, but Reiji stops them in front of the final door. He doesn’t even hear Kenta clarify the woman entered another room, plated with a woman’s sign for the bathroom.

He thinks, instead, of how Kandori’s going to look dying on his office floor. He cannot hear Kenta whisper caution as he opens the door. Remarkably, no one is there.

Quietly - Reiji leads, nothing the camera directed in the opposite direction, watching the elevators.

 _“I can confirm the only security present would be in the rooms,”_ Kenta says. _“The schedule states patrol end come ten o’ clock. It is currently ten thirty.”_

“Good.”

_“Please exert caution, nonetheless. Mister Kandori is directly north from where you are. His office the only one in the furthest hallway.”_

“I’m going quiet now.”

The first few steps are the heaviest, like gravity drags him down to the carpet with every step forward. Reiji walks forward and down the west hallway without checking for his company, only hearing the scratch of Masao’s shoes on the floor as any indication of their presence. Each door looks similar to the last, with even the engraved nameplates pressed to the wall. Indistinguishable. Corporate. Just obstacles.

Reiji draws his pistol. Barrel to the sky, finger hovering past the trigger. Does Suou notice? Probably. He golds his tongue, because he knows what stealth means. Threaten him, even when nothing is happening. It’s a victory for him.

Walking halls made of the last Kido dollar makes him furious - but he keeps his eyes steady. A camera that directs itself inward to the hallways rest directly above Reiji - he lowers himself and crouches past, listening to the clothes behind him rustle.

And shuffle. And move?

Tatsuya pushes on Reiji’s shoulder. He points a thumb behind him, and Reiji realizes without word or expression what it means while he’s already pulling open the nearest door. Accepting the choice - Reiji outstretches his gun, aiming inside.

A woman lifts her head. Short brown hair, glasses. Fear consumes her and takes her voice, and the colour drains further from her when more intruders enter.

“Don’t speak,” Reiji says when the door shuts. Slowly, the woman lifts her hands off her keyboard, pressing them behind her head. A bracelet dangles.

Reiji gestures for Tatsuya to follow, and his other hand directs Masao still with a gesture. Masao sets his aim on the woman, and Tatsuya holsters his own to take the woman’s hands, bringing them down behind her to tie, out of her seat.

Reiji watches, Fucking cop. Takes to it too well.

“We’re not here for you,” Tatsuya tells her. She’s already sweating. “You will assist us. _Don’t_ be a hero. Do you understand?”

She nods. She looks older. She refuses to look at Reiji. She starts to cry.

“Get over here,” Reiji says, looking at Naoya - who hasn’t moved from the door. “Come keep watch. Why are you just standing there?”

“It…” Naoya says, dumbly. He can’t see him, but Reiji rolls his eyes. The hesitation in Naoya’s voice is strong, stronger than he’s seen from him. Reiji turns, catching Masao keeping his gun on the woman, and walks over to Naoya, and leans close - very close. If the helmets weren’t in the way, he’d be breathing down his neck.

“Tell me.” Any compassion in his voice is void. “I’ve made you do this before.”

He can see Naoya’s eyes behind his visor. They falter, wavering between Reiji and the woman. “It’s… I can’t aim a gun at this woman.”

“Why not.”

Naoya looks at the woman for a longer second, but before he opens his mouth, the dull knock of knuckles at the door breaks their conversation. Reiji turns his head back to the desk while Naoya looks to the door, and watches the woman seize up with panic and hope, as Masao steadies his aim and Tatsuya looks up from the drawers of the desk.

Reiji walks back towards her, with light steps, when a voice from behind the door calls her name. He holds up his gun. The threat holds the woman captive more than her bonds as he carefully lowers it to face her. _“Setsuko? You in there?”_

He can see her tremble this close, barrel aiming down her face. His finger hovers the trigger - he doesn’t expect her to recognize where the safety sits on a gun. The voice continues - _“I’m heading out… Setsuko?”_ \- before distant steps shuffle off. Reiji looks at Naoya, and beckons him over, before there’s a weight at his stomach and his vision shifts.

Setsuko lifts her head, glasses askew, from the head-butt, and releases a wicked scream for her coworker. A trigger is pulled - and the glass shatters, Masao’s posture explaining all the panic disrupting him. The door is knocked on once more and then thrown open, another woman’s fear twisting to shock and terror upon the cold air of Liberty City’s skyline billowing into the broken glass.

 _“Move!”_ Reiji calls out, and runs out of the door, shoving the woman out of the way. The final note of silence breaks with an alarm ripping through the halls of the building, sharp and deafening, even through the biker helmet. Reiji hits Masao with the butt of his pistol when the _idiot_ of a man runs out after him, direct in the shoulder. Masao’s cry of pain goes unnoticed when another door opens.

A man in a bulletproof vest steps out, a white shirt underneath it. Whatever command he calls out is ignored when Reiji reaches forward and fires, hitting one of his unarmoured shoulders and sending the man to the floor. He calls another _“Move! Now!”_ for the men behind him, and breaks into a run down the western hallway, each alarm bell sharp in his ear whenever he passes another.

When he passes the body of the dying guard, another man breaks from a door in front of him, and Reiji braces himself against the swinging wood when it crashes into him. To his surprise, he is in a suit, and stares at Reiji when he realizes who he must be. Without waiting to hear him scream, Reiji grabs him by the collar and spins him around, an arm around his neck to lock him close. He presses his pistol to the man’s head, and shouts in his ear, _“Walk!”_

Ahead, a security guard rounds the corner, and stops where he stands when he sees the tears of a man with a gun to his head. Hesitation breaks immediately over him, and his outstretched arms pull back towards him.

“Release the hostage,” the guard calls out, even as Reiji walks forward, pushing the man along. _“Release the hostage,_ or I _will_ use force.”

“What kind of _guard_ are you?” Reiji calls over the crying man’s shoulders, and within the second, aims forward, and sends the enforcer to the floor with a bullet to the eye. His hostage screams and brings his arms up to Reiji’s own, before the warm muzzle is pressed back to his head.

“Don’t you make a _sound,”_ he snarls into his ear, pressing the shape of his helmet against his skin. “Where’s your boss? _Where is Takahisa?”_

A bullet is fired behind them both. A door opens, but it is one of the helmeted intruders taking cover, and the scream of another woman from within the office is heard. Reiji presses the barrel closer against the man’s head, who sobs and mutters, “I-I— let me take you…”

It takes time to walk with the man leaning back into Reiji, almost pulled off his feet whenever Reiji pulls on him to keep him close. Another armed guard appears in front of Reiji, but unlike his _stupid_ comrade, lowers his gun and holds his hands apart. Reiji finds himself grinning behind his helmet when he passes the coward, who is immediately drawn instead to the attention of Tatsuya, who seems to be barrelling for Reiji.

 _“Hey!”_ Tatsuya calls out, “What are you doing?! Let go of that man!”

The man, face wet with tears and sniffling through his nose, continues to mutter directions for Reiji - _down this hall, then there’s another turn, it’s, it’s like a maze_ \- while the blood burns Tatsuya’s call out. Reiji thinks of Takahisa, and he thinks about the way he’ll look, and he thinks about how he’ll catch him running from the one he knows is coming for him. When he rounds the corner, the man whimpers an incoherent plea.

“Please, let me- let me go, I-I’m married,” he begs, “My daughter- my daughter’s engaged, I want-”

 _“Shut up,”_ Reiji snarls once more, “I don’t _care_ about you. I’m looking for your boss.”

“This—this is the final— the final hallway, I promise, a-and he’s the last door, the only door!! Please let me go!”

 _“Reiji!”_ the sudden voice of Kenta calls out, deep in his ear. _“There are gunshots! What’s happening?! Who fired first?!”_

“I’m busy,” is all he responds with, and throws the man into the wall once he reaches the final turn, letting him slump to the floor as he storms forward. He’s there. He’s here.

The distant gunfire grows closer, as his no-faced comrades cover his path. Tatsuya leads their charge, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the bullets behind him, nor does he care about the petrified man on the ground. He doesn’t care about the empty hallway, or the maze of offices. The doorknob is plated in gold, and Reiji throws it open with his arm outstretched. It’s a secretary’s office, with a fogged glass door dividing him from his own blood. It opens with ease, and the force of which he slams it into the wall may have cracked the glass. The lights are off.

“Where are you, you _son of a bitch?!”_ he screams, whipping wildly around to find the man he’s hated for fifteen years. “Are you _hiding_ from me?! Come out so I can kill you!”

The silence consumes him more than any dark night or street corner ever could. The darkness is relieved only by the moonlight peering through the window backing a desk, but its large leather seat holds no occupant. He can’t find the light. He grabs the helmet and throws it off his head, the blue steel crashing into whatever furniture lines the walls, sending Kenta with it.

“Takahisa!” Reiji shouts once more, voice straining. “Where the _fuck_ are you!”

What strikes him is no bullet, or even blunt object.

Maybe when the darkness consumes him entirely, he’ll find it fitting Kandori used a knife.

The pain rips through his lower back, and spreads like water would. The shadows of the room almost become clear to his wide eyes, dyed in blue moonlight instead of heavy black. When his body seizes, that’s when the pain spreads even more, pulsating through tense muscle that bleeds through the push of a blade. A hand, gloved and strong, wraps over his neck, and then an arm pins him against a taller body. The sinister voice of his older brother is as clear as the glass in front of him.

“I'm impressed how you got up here without being seen,” Kandori hisses, a grin in his voice. “I'll have to find the rat who helped you get in here.”

Reiji’s body stumbles without guidance. Kandori’s arm over his throat is the only thing that keeps his stiff legs from collapsing. Kandori strains his closed fist, and the leather gloves clenches together.

“Of course you’d think to kill my associates to get to me. You’re just _that_ violent, little brother.”

Instead of dropping him, Kandori pulls him closer - down the length of the knife, until even through the searing pain he can feel the hilt press against his open wound. Reiji thinks he only gasps, but he could have screamed. Blood rolls down his body like sweat, and like tears. The knife drags down his skin the best his assailant can manage, and then - he is thrown to the ground, face first.

He collapses in a heap of arms and pooling blood. It seeps into his jacket, and bleeds down his back. Like a haunted body, his stare is vacant, and Reiji looks past the shadows and into a darkness deeper than the shroud of night.

“For the record,” he can hear Kandori say, distant and forgotten, “I only regret our reunion was so brief. Goodbye.”

The door closes.


	16. urban evasion

Tatsuya forces Takahisa Kandori’s back into the wall of the secretary office, a painting frame digging into his spine. Surprised, but still under control.

“And who are you?” he asks, trying to peer into the shadow of a black biker helmet. “Were you a friend of my little brother?”

“Where is he.” Tatsuya’s hand is tight on his throat, pressing up into the curve of his jaw. He can see Kandori wants to smile - and he does, lips pressed thin.

“I don’t think he has much time left,” he remarks, coyly. “Perhaps you should go and say your goodbyes - I already have.”

The horror hits Tatsuya, but his glare doesn’t break - only his hand slips, and Takahisa tries to pull from his grasp, only to be pulled back, and thrown into the desk of whatever person is unfortunate enough to be his secretary, hand now gripping his tie. He’s visibly older than Reiji - Tatsuya realizes that when he shouts a grunt of pain, grabbing the masked man’s wrist with both hands.

“Let go of me,” Takahisa hisses, “I’m sure you were already informed this is a _family matter.”_

“What did you do to him?” Tatsuya brings the gun up, holding it down at the pinned businessman.

“He was trying to confront me over some _nonsense_ he’s been fuming over. I reacted faster than him,” Kandori snarls. When the gun creeps into his vision, he kicks at Tatsuya’s legs, attempting to break his captor’s grasp. _“Release me.”_

Tatsuya brings the pistol up Takahisa’s torso, to his throat, and into his open moth, though grit with teeth. The same panic he sent through his younger brother breaks Takahisa’s demeanor, and it’s when he opens his mouth to demand release again, that Tatsuya pushes the barrel into his mouth, chips his teeth, and pulls the trigger.

Blood splatters the dark wood desk and the keyboard above his head, bits of bone and brain matter flying with it. Takahisa’s body jerks, his grip on Tatsuya’s arm tensing for only a second before his arms drop, hitting the desk’s surface and dropping past the edge. When Tatsuya releases him, his body slips off, sliding down the desk’s front and then dropping to his side on the floor. Blood drips from the edge of the desk, like the calm after rain.

iNaoya - has Naoya been standing there? - runs up to Tatsuya, lingering on Takahisa’s body with a horrific stare, but pushes past the terror to pull Tatsuya by the shoulder, into the open door. Masao kneels beside a body, and in the darkness, Tatsuya knows what he sees the shadow of.

A light turns on. The three men crowd around Reiji’s body. Masao’s hands wring and freeze in horror, his stare fixating on the knife. “Holy shit— _boss!_ Boss, hold on!”

Tatsuya lowers himself closer to the knife, the panic returning to him in a crashing wave. It sticks out of the ripped fabric of Reiji’s jacket and swells with blood in pulsing beats. The black denim is stained a deep colour, and the stench of blood is thick. Naoya has thrown off his helmet to get Reiji’s own, hesitating before shoving it on, lifting the visor so he can hear.

“Kenta!” he shouts into the receiver, cutting off the urgent buzzing of Kenta’s own voice. “We’re—Reiji’s dying, Kandori stabbed him—he’s dead—no, Kandori is, Reiji’s—” He looks at Masao, who holds a hand stained with pooling blood to Reiji’s throat, searching for whatever weak pulse exists beneath a head of bloody hair.

Tatsuya pushes his hand off, and touches the correct location - the movement causes Reiji to gargle blood in his throat, spilling from the corner of his mouth. But — there’s a pulse. Weak. Distant. He nods, and Naoya continues - “—Alive, there’s people in the building—”

With the utmost of care, Tatsuya slips a hand against Reiji’s head, his other resting on his back to keep him still and steady, swatting Masao’s own off his body. Masao pushes up his visor to stare at the dying man, smearing blood on to the glass as fear consumes his eyes. His own breathing is sharp, even under the mask. He looks at Tatsuya, then at the door. “Tatsuya… you killed him, right?”

It takes some moments for Tatsuya to remove his stare from Reiji’s fading form. “…Kandori? Yes, I did.”

Masao doesn’t move his stare from the door. “Well… good. Boss would’ve wanted that.”

“We have to move fast,” Naoya says, pushing down the visor of Reiji’s helmet. “Kenta said one of us needs to carry him. The other two distract.”

“How the hell do we distract a building coming at us?!” Masao’s bewildered expression can be seen even through the slip of only his eyes.

“By fighting our way out - Masao, it’s the _only thing_  he can think of.” He looks at Tatsuya - the panic and the fear sits in him, but it’s stronger when he looks at Tatsuya. “You… You’ll have to carry him. Since you’re able to.”

Tatsuya looks down at Reiji. “We’ll have to remove the knife.”

With careful, wary hands, he reaches to the knife low on Reiji’s body, and grips the bloody handle. It’s warm with Kandori’s final touch. He pulls it from Reiji’s body - whose gasp is sharp, and lingers on a scream, before he slips to silence again, his tends body slacking once more against the floor. The only mark of relief, if any relief at all, is that Reiji’s breathing is louder, and remains labored.

“Reiji,” Tatsuya says, taking his shoulder and rolling him - slowly, carefully. “I’m going to lift you over my shoulders. I’m getting you out. Can you hear me?”

The way he stares through Tatsuya reminds him of the empty eyes of the dead. A rush of determination charges through Tatsuya’s chest, and he lowers himself down so Masao can guide Reiji over his shoulders. It’s how the firemen carry the burning dead — when he lifts himself up, Tatsuya steadies his balance, and holds Reiji by the leg and arm.

“Go after us,” Naoya says, getting to his feet after grabbing Reiji’s dropped weapon. “Kenta says you take the elevator. They won’t cut power, but - hurry, before police arrive.”

Tatsuya closes his eyes to breathe in. Though Reiji weighs heavy on him, and his breathing is wheezed and wet with his own blood, Tatsuya listens to Naoya and Masao run out, fast and loud. He walks out, the quickest pace he can manage, and looks at Kandori’s body when he does.

It hasn’t moved. He’s not sure why he thought it would. Maybe one of the others would have kicked him on the way. Tatsuya breaks his eyes away from the corpse as a bullet echoes distantly, and he rushes through the halls, back to where he came.

* * *

 

The halls are empty. Doors are open - there are signs of escape in some, but not all; it makes him think, in the haze of adrenaline, if some think themselves still hostages, hiding under their desks. When he walks through the hallway, past the doors and the line of bodies left by every bullet between the four men, he realizes it shapes itself like a snake, coiling and winding. It’s a strange design choice.

Remarking in design is a terrible way to occupy himself, but it feels better to do than lingering thoughts on the open doors surrounding him and the people he’s sworn to protect. He can’t imahone them people right now. They can’t be anything like people. His grip on Reiji’s arm tightens for a moment, and he picks up the pace.

The desolation of the floor makes Tatsuya consider that perhaps Naoya and Masao have led the retaliation further down the stairs - or maybe they killed everyone on this floor. There were people on the twentieth floor, weren’t there? Have they left, too? Were they even aware, or were they simply told to remain in their offices? Perhaps evacuation orders for staff were crucial in the heist’s operation.

Tatsuya stands, for a moment longer than he wanted to, between the doors and the fire escape as he thinks on that. Anything to fixate on, in the silence of an attack. He looks at the wall across from one of the elevators, and sees a man he didn’t see on the way in. Perhaps that was the bullet. The voice of Reiji, which doesn’t speak over his shoulder, tells him to stop worrying about collateral.

That sounds like something he’d say. Tatsuya gambles with the elevators. The door opens, rising from the floor below, and he can’t believe it.

What do you do in an elevator, carrying a dying man? Tatsuya trembles with the weight when the burden of gravity falls on him when the escalator begins its descent, and he has to kneel down when it makes him almost lose his footing. He lowers Reiji a little on to his knees, supporting him from the waist and arm. Reiji’s body slouches against his, face pressing against the flank of his helmet. It’s uncomfortable. Reiji’s shallow breathing fogs up the bottom of the visor.

“Reiji,” Tatsuya says, quietly, “Stay with me.”

If he could speak, maybe he’d choose not to at all. Roll his head back to look at Tatsuya in the eye and keep his mouth shut, blood seeping from the line of his lips.

The elevator stops. Twelfeth floor. Tatsuya’s hand is at his pistol and aims at the door before it opens, but it’s only Masao running past Naoya, who halts.

“—It’s me,” Naoya remarks, almost quietly. His visor has broken. There’s a bullet scrape across the baby blue helmet. Tatsuya lowers his weapon past Naoya, and finally drops it when the doors shut again, to Masao’s vicious button pressing.

“Sorry,” Tatsuya remarks. “I didn’t think you’d actually try to get on the elevator.”

“We should be telling you that,” Masao says, “There were five guys on us, and we lost ‘em for a second in the stairwell. My fucking arm…”

Tatsuya looks up at him, and sees blood seeping between Masao’s already bloodied hand. The hair on his neck prickles. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Man, I… hope so? We’re going to the hospital, right? Or does Kento have some shady black market surgeon that’s going to take care of us?”

“Kenta,” Naoya corrects him, from the corner of the escalator. “I don’t know. He’s on the street behind the building. The police might be outside when we get there.”

“What are we going to do about your car?” Masao scratches the back of his neck with his bloody hand, but then clasps it down on his bleeding arm once more. Tatsuya glances at Naoya, who shrugs.

“I… might have to ask Kenta to get it. Tomorrow. I don’t know.”

The elevator opens. Tatsuya gets to his feet with the help of Masao, who supports Reiji’s body. The door to the lobby is heavy, but Masao holds it open for all three. Mirrors greet Tatsuya when he enters and passes to the exit, and he tries not to look at the way Reiji hangs off him.

Kenta is at the door, stopping a run. Horror reignites in his whole expression, rushing to the men and looking at Reiji. “Get him to my car. There’s a stairwell outside on this floor of the garage - Reiji, can you hear me?”

“He hasn’t spoken since we got him off the ground,” Tatsuya says, solemn and quiet. Kenta looks back at him with lingering remorse, and he quickly leads them farther in the garage, past a pillar and along empty parking spaces. There’s a wall painted green in a far corner, with a staircase painted in black. The door is heavier than the lobby’s exit, and the stairs are cold grey concrete.

Reiji’s body is so heavy. Masao and Kenta support Tatsuya as he ascends, who watches Naoya lead them and hold the door. He finally looks at Tatsuya when he passes, and Tatsuya understands. Mercifully; Kenta’s car is parked close to the concrete bunker-shape entrance to the underground, and they guide Reiji into the backseat with Masao entering first, body limp against the other bleeding man. Naoya crawls inside as Tatsuya enters the passenger seat.

Tatsuya looks back at Naoya in the rear view mirror outside of the car. He reaches his hands to the helmet, to finally remove it and breathe deep the night air, but Naoya’s stare tells him to put his hands down.

Liberty City’s midnight is darker than it usually is with the visor over his eyes.


	17. civilian justice

He avoids the prying eye of his curious brother by driving to the hospital two days later.

The City Hall Hospital blends in with the mass of buildings if you’re not looking for it - Tatsuya finds the interior of the police cruiser to be restrictive, and it makes it harder for him to identify the archway that opens to the emergency room entrance. He pulls to a stop a little farther down the road than he’d like, and exits the cruiser, pulling his windbreaker forward to adjust. It’s not windy out, but it makes people look away when they see the stitched insignia of the LCPD.

A nurse with thick hair and a playful smile guides him through the quiet halls after an elevator trip, past empty gurney beds in front of open doors. She slows to walk at his pace, and hugs a plain folder to her chest as she looks him up and down.

“From what I hear, he’s conscious already,” she says, fixing her hair. “Still, he’s reluctant to talk. He was brought in by two friends of his.”

Tatsuya thinks about Kenta and Naoya carrying Reiji inside of the hospital. His steps feel heavier. “Would you say his condition is stabling, then?”

“Of course. I have to admire his tenacity, even if his unresponsive moments seems more out of stubbornness than cause of concern.” The nurse looks ahead, her smile faltering for only a moment. “He was brought in after that attack on SEBEC the other night. Were you there…?”

“Yes,” Tatsuya says, and doesn’t look at her, either. “I - can’t tell you much about it, I’m afraid.”

“I understand. I was just curious.” She stops their walk in front of a closed door, with a window peering in to see the foot of an occupied bed. “I’m not sure if he’s sleeping right now. Give me a moment…”

Placing the beige folder in a clear plastic container on the door, the woman opens the door and holds it open for Tatsuya to walk in. Reiji, sitting up and conscious, is looking out of the window.

“Mister Kido, Officer Suou is here to talk to you,” the nurse says, remaining in the doorway as Tatsuya stands at the foot of the bed. “Do you want to talk to him?”

Silence is her answer. She passes a glance to Tatsuya, and with his quiet nod, she closes the door. Tatsuya doesn’t break the unsteady silence, and it keeps, until Reiji sighs.

“Is he dead?” is all he asks.

“Yes.” Tatsuya looks out the window as well, looking at a cluster of passing birds. “I killed him. He didn’t get far.”

“That’s good.” Reiji leans back in the bed, and moves his eyes to the ceiling instead. It’s different to see him in a hospital gown and not leather or denim. It makes him look shapeless, with lanky arms and unwashed black hair. Tatsuya notices he’s leaning more on his right. “Why did you save me?”

“Are you expecting me to say ‘I don’t know’?” Tatsuya responds while taking a seat in the only chair in the room.

“I don’t understand.” Reiji closes his eyes. “You were carrying me. I remember that.”

“What else do you remember?”

“The knife getting pulled out of me. Did you do that?”

Tatsuya nods. Reiji exhales through his nose. “I made a mistake, running ahead. It’s on me.”

“I’m not here to chastise you,” Tatsuya says. “I wanted… to be the responder to take your word and cover for you.”

“For fuck’s sake…” Reiji stretches under the sheets when he brings his hands to his face, though hisses when he pulls on his wounds. _“Fuck…_ What kind of idiot are you? Why risk yourself like that? You should have killed Kandori and got out of there without me.”

“I don’t think Masao would have let me,” he interjects, “He ran to your side first, you know.”

“He’s an idiot too. Fuck. You actually _want_ to help me?”

“I’ve been doing that so far, haven’t I?”

Reiji sits up - slowly, carefully. He looks at Tatsuya, and he stares at him with a frustrated, yet curious look. He opens his mouth to speak, but grits his teeth instead, failing to come up with something to say. Tatsuya leans forward on his knees, and looks out the window again.

“I had no reason to leave you to die. Masao and Naoya had no reason to leave you to die. We’re all alive - Kenta made sure you got here as soon as he could.”

“You’re crazy,” is all Reiji can come up with, quieted and distant. “… Thank you. I don’t know how, or why, you decided to save my life, but. Thanks. You made sure he didn’t get away, either.”

Tatsuya nods, and finds himself smiling something steady at Reiji. He doesn’t think Reiji notices, and maybe that’s for the better.

The door opens again. Both of them turn their heads, and the same nurse stands there, smiling again.

“Officer Suou? Your assistant has arrived,” she replies, and before Tatsuya can question who she could be referring to, a familiar runt with glasses and an ugly smirk walks past the girl.

“Thank you, miss Yoshino,” Tadashi Satomi says, his voice just as nasally as it has always been. Tatsuya rolls his eyes when the nurse leaves, and looks back out the window to avoid him. “What are _you_ doing here, Suou? You're not supposed to be working today.”

“Katsuya’s orders,” Tatsuya lies. “Shouldn’t I say the same thing to you?”

“I actually show up for more than a couple hours a day, so it makes sense that I’m _expected_ to do my job.” Tadashi steps to the side of Reiji’s bed, who refuses to look at him. “Officer Tadashi Satomi, LCPD. You’re Reiji Kido, aren’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Reiji responds. Tadashi flares his nostrils and exhales sharply.

“I won’t take any lip from you - I don’t give a damn who tore you up.” Tadashi takes out a notepad, and Tatsuya feels his temper crawl to a boil the more he hears the other man speak. “Are you an employee at SEBEC?”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I don’t care. Your blood was found in Takahisa Kandori’s office, with his body in the other room. Can you tell me why?”

“I already asked him those questions,” Tatsuya interjects, getting Tadashi’s attention. “You’re just antagonizing him.”

“Then you better share whatever you’ve got, before I ask Katsuya to _order_ you.” Tadashi rolls his eyes and pockets the notepad, sticking the pen in the spiral. “You’re already dragging your ass trying to come up with anything substantial on that Broker drug problem. Do you even _try_ to do your job?”

Tatsuya notices Reiji glance at him from the bed, and he quietly smirks. He does his best to ignore him while glaring at Tadashi. “Did you drive here? Go back to your car. I’m taking care of this.”

“Give me everything you have from him when you get back to the office,” Tadashi says while turning away, arrogant and with a smarmy grin spread on his face. “Thanks for being _uncooperative,_ mister Kido. Feel better soon.”

He lets the door close roughly as he leaves. Reiji’s kept his smirk, and Tatsuya’s stare doesn’t get rid of it.

“I almost forgot about that little detail about us,” Reiji says, and Tatsuya rolls his eyes.

“I’ve intentionally averted working on that. Associating with you has kept me clear of questioning.”

“Look at you, learning illicit practises from me.”

“I’ll call him back in and leave him here.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

* * *

 

_“Investigators are still searching for any evidence relating to the shooting at the SEBEC headquarters in Crystal City Gardens, leaving six dead, including the American branch’s CEO, Takahisa Kandori. Sources tell us a possible suspect or potential victim could be a relative to Takahisa, as matching blood was found in the head office._

  
Lunch today is granola cereal with shaved ham from the grocery packet. Never knock her for lack of trying when it comes to cooking. She returns to the couch with a glass of water, and sits herself down. The television is loud, and no one else is home.

 _“Police can confirm this murder seems connected to the Ideo Hazama murder, as a familiar masked assailant was seen within the building, only this time he was with accomplices.”_ An image of the Black Helmet - so she’s called him - appears on the screen, a blurry image in the length of a hallway. There is an intentionally blurred image of a body on the ground, just out of the shot.

She lifts her head, and narrows her eyes.

_“Weazel News encourages anyone with information that could lead to the identification of either the assailant or the relative of Takahisa Kandori to contact authorities immediately. A service for Kandori will be held this week by his fiancee, Chizuru Ishigami. Kandori had two daughters, and was forty-one.”_

She thinks. She tries to think. Picking up the remote, she presses reverse, and pauses just on the Black Helmet.

Definitely a man. Tall. Athletic. She sits up, and leans forward, resting on her elbows. She’ll find him. The bedroom door opens.

“Hey,” she says, looking down the hall. “You’re going out?”

“I’m just going in to work to drop some things off,” the other woman says, stretching her arms out. She sighs when she leans on the back of the couch, then presses a kiss to her girlfriend’s cheek. “They want me to go find Chizuru Ishigami and talk to her, but… I don’t know, I’d feel bad questioning her while she’s in mourning.”

“You know that kind of integrity makes the higher-ups mad, babe.”

“Someone else can do it. I’d rather wait until after the funeral.” She steps around the couch and sits down, leaning herself against her body. “Are you going anywhere today?”  
“I might be.”

“I’ll go once she’s up, then. You can take my car.” Once more, she tilts her head back, and presses a kiss to the underside of her jaw. “What’s on TV?”

“Something about the Muses group. Maybe something you wrote up will end up next.”

She laughs. “Stop that.”

* * *

 

“I’m getting tired of giving you free rides, Eikichi.”

“Is there something _wrong_ with helping out your best buddy, Tatsu-baby?”

“That’s a severe overstatement,” Tatsuya says plainly.

The brownstone apartments are an ugly backdrop to Eikichi’s bright green outfit standing in front of Tatsuya’s bike. It clashes with his bright blue hair - something about the tragedy of an outfit reminds Tatsuya of a broken highlighter. Despite it all, Eikichi grins, cheeky.

“C’mon, don’t be like that! You know you love Michel grindin’ up next to you when he settles in for a ride.”

“Do _not_ suggest you’re grinding  _anything_ up next to me. I’ll make you walk next time I take you somewhere.” Tatsuya lifts his helmet off his lap and puts it back on, tucking stray hair back underneath. Eikichi laughs something obnoxious, and turns to the stairs of his apartment.

“Whatever! See you in a week, or whenever you decide to crawl out of work. Toodles!” He soon disappears past the front door, after curling his fingers in a playful goodbye. Tatsuya turns on the bike, and kicks off the curb, and moves into the centre of the left lane. Behind him, a white Merit slows down to let him merge in. A red light grows closer, and when he stops at the intersection, he quickly dials on his phone.

_“Hello?”_

“It’s me.” The light turns green. “How’s Masao?”

 _“He’s fine. The nurses believed he was injured in a shooting range. Don’t know what shooting range is open at midnight, but…”_ Naoya exhales into the receiver. _“A gamble worth taking.”_

“Did you get your car back?”

_“Kenta drove it to my place himself. He’s a pretty helpful person. It’s a nice change.”_

The call lingers in the silence. Tatsuya’s starting to hate the way silence grows between Naoya and himself.

“I saw Reiji earlier,” he then says. He can hear Naoya perk up, with a small ‘hm’. “He’s conscious. Surgery went well. Nobody’s going to question him, either.”

_“How’d you sort that out?”_

“I went on duty. Got there before someone else did, so I covered everything.”

“I’ll have to go see him, myself. I haven’t seen him since the other night.” Naoya pauses, and then asks, “Can I ask you something?”

Tatsuya bites his lip. “Of course.”

_“You’re not… feeling 'different', are you?”_

“Is this about Kandori?”

_“It’s a bit more than just Kandori, but yes.”_

Tatsuya recognizes the buildings around him, closer to his home. It’s better to focus on something else when Naoya gets him confessing things. “I’m not taking a liking to violence, no. I’m sorry I aimed my gun at you, Naoya. I didn’t know who’d be behind that door.”

 _“It’s - alright. I understand. I think it was just weird to experience.”_ He can hear Naoya scratch the skin under his ear. _“And… the way Kandori died?”_

“Circumstantial. I’d never go out of my way to be violent.” Tatsuya lowers his gaze back to the road. He closes his eyes, longer than he has to, and then holds them open, so he doesn’t - crash. “These past weeks have been just as hard on me as they must be on you, Naoya. But - I won’t be doing it anymore. Reiji’s content after Kandori; I won’t be working for him anymore.” He tries to smile under the helmet, but it’s hard. “You probably won’t have to, either.”

 _“Hope not. I’ll talk to him after he gets out of the hospital.”_ However - he can hear the relief in Naoya’s own voice. _“That’s a good point, though. I wonder what it’ll be without that hanging over Maki and I.”_

“Tell her I’m alright, by the way.” Tatsuya comes to a stop at his familiar spot, the foot of his apartment. “I imagine she might be worried after Masao came home like that.”

_“No kidding. Thanks, by the way.”_

“For?”

_“Being honest. And helping. I really mean it.”_

“Anytime,” Tatsuya says. “I’ve got to put my bike in our garage, now. I’ll call you later.”

_“See you, Tats.”_

It feels - better. Like entering a cool house after a hot summer day. A relief down his spine, and a smile forming on his face. The ride into the garage is quick, and his helmet comes off his head soon after. Tatsuya steps off his bike, and puts his keys away while exiting the cold garage.

He can hear footsteps walking towards him. Before he can step out of the way for the coming pedestrian - he’s grabbed and spun around, dropping his helmet. An arm comes around his throat, and he immediately begins to thrash out of their grasp. His assailant keeps Tatsuya’s head down - pressing their thick arm against his throat, pulling the air and life from his lungs. The hold starts to swim his vision, but doesn’t stop his punches. He hits their thigh, their hip - but it doesn’t relent.

He can’t scream. He can’t breathe, or shout, or soon fight back - the hold takes the light out of him, and soon, it’s just distant movement, the sound of a car trunk opening, and the numb feeling of his hands pulled behind his back as the door slams shut.


	18. below the surface

He doesn’t know how long it could have been, or where he could possibly be. There’s a carpet, though - as well as a television.

“You up, yet?” A woman’s voice, deep and rough. He feels something push against his shoulder, and he surmises it’s a foot. His eyes don’t want to open. “I can hear you grumbling.”

 _Is_ he making noise? His throat feels raw, like the aftermath of screaming. Carefully, he tries to move his head, and it feels like moving bruised limbs. The foot pushes on his shoulder, and he rolls on his face to the other shoulder. He groans, agonized and disoriented.

He can hear the woman click her tongue. “Wake up. You’re going to drool on my floor.”

Slowly - with great effort - Tatsuya opens his eyes, vision unfocused. No light filters in through the windows, the curtains drawn shut - but there’s a lamp on, next to what looks like - a couch. It takes some time to look around, but first, he sees skating shoes, then jeans; craning his bruised neck introduces him to the woman’s face. Stern, rough, and with thick, curly black hair pulled back under a hat.

“Tatsuya Suou,” she says. “Is that it? I checked your wallet. I think I’ve heard that name before - doesn’t matter.” Again, she taps him with her foot. “I’d like to do this a bit more ceremoniously, but you don’t deserve it.”

“Where have you taken me?” Tatsuya says, his throat dry and his voice coarse. He can’t see the rest of the room - his arms tied behind his back, and his cheek in the floor. His head is still heavy with a thick haze, but he pushes through the exhaustion threatening to pull him back under. “What do you _want?”_

“I want you to explain what your role was in the SEBEC Shooting,” the woman snaps, stepping back to sit on the green couch. “As well as why you were fleeing from the apartment Ideo Hazama was killed in.”

It shakes Tatsuya’s senses harder than a punch could - he glares up at her, then pulls his gaze away, staring at her ankles and the carpet underneath the couch. He can see the foot of the door through it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re that fuck in the black helmet!” She retorts, lifting his very helmet off the cushion next to her. “Same fucking helmet, same fucking jacket. I’ve followed every lead they have on your sorry ass, and it put me right in front of your apartment today!”

“I’ll have you charged with kidnapping,” Tatsuya grunts, pulling on the cable ties. They dig into his wrists, rubbing his skin painfully. “Assault—stalking— _everything,_ now untie me, or-”

“You better start fessing up a little, or I’ll _make_ you,” she interrupts him with a crack of her knuckles, a loud pop to silence Tatsuya. She stands up. She takes only one step towards him before the door opens.

The woman whips around. Tatsuya can’t see beyond the couch, but the rush to escape runs through him as he tries to twist his body against the carpet to sit up. His captor kicks him back down with a furious _“Stay down!”_ as she runs to the door, where it sounds as if someone is struggling to hold it open. Tatsuya rolls to his stomach again, eyes shut tight as he steadies his vision again.

“You’re - home,” she remarks, staying the door. “I thought you’d be a while.”

“I was just getting groceries with Ulala,” another voice says, and seems to stop fussing with paper bags. “What’s wrong…? Why do you look so nervous?”

“It’s - well, I was - working on something-”

 _“Who’s there?!”_ Tatsuya shouts, bent on his knees and sitting up. “Help me!”

There is a short scuffle between his captor and the visitor - but the woman is no match for the insistence of the other, and it only takes a second for her to step around the couch and say-

_“Tatsuya?!”_

Maya Amano drops her bags of groceries. Oranges spill from the bag and tap against Tatsuya’s knees. He stares as dumbfounded as Maya is, and loses his words trying to reason.

Things change when one stays in the city and the other goes to Japan.

“You _know_ him?” The other woman asks, incredulous and nervous. Maya whips around in a flurry of panic and anger, storming to the door.

“Why is he _tied up in our living room?!”_ Maya grabs her arm and shakes it, only to be gently pried off.

“You know that- the cases, right? The Black Helmet? I was- I was digging, and-”

“You can’t tie people up and interrogate them in our apartment!” Maya yells into her hands, even as the other woman tries to shush her. Something rings outside, like an elevator, and Maya is tense for a moment before grabbing the woman and dragging her to Tatsuya.

“Help him on his feet right now,” Maya says, “And unite him in our room.”

“I am _not_ bringing him to our room!”

“No, what you’re _not_ doing is letting Ulala see my friends tied up and arrested! Go, Yukino!”

A voice from outside the door breaks her demand. “Hey, Maya? I’ve got, like, four bags. Open up.”

“In a minute!” Maya calls, pushing Tatsuya and the now named Yukino down a hall filled with unique paintings and posters, before shoving them into a room. “And you better let him go!”

The bedroom is - exactly how Tatsuya would imagine Maya’s bedroom to look like, honestly. Clothes askew, with a laptop and camera safely atop a clean desk. Clothing that doesn’t look like what she would wear seems littered between the pink blouses and mom jeans - denim jackets and graphic tank tops.

“Close your fucking eyes,” Yukino says, turning him around and pushing him against the door, pulling what sounds like a utility knife out and placing it over the cable ties. “And don’t you even think about looking around.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Tatsuya says, instead turning his gaze upward and staring at the point where the pink wallpaper meets the staccato ceiling. His bonds break from his wrists and he feels immediate relief in his shoulders, however temporary, before Yukino grabs his hands and pushes them against the door roughly, pinned against his forearms.

The growing, approaching voices of Maya and a third woman stop for a moment. Tatsuya can hear the third one ask - “Where’s Yukino?”

“In our room,” Maya says, remarkably calm.

“Everything’s alright in here,” Yukino calls out, a brief smile in her words.

Silence follows, but the conversation picks up once more farther to the right, in what is presumably the kitchen. Tatsuya leans his face against the door, closing his eyes when he spots Yukino staring at him.

“You’re an amateur,” Tatsuya mutters. The knee that Yukino delivers between his legs is anything but patient. He doesn’t yell, but he comes very close to it, biting his tongue and crumbling against the door. Yukino’s grip on his wrists don’t falter.

“And _you_ should shut your fucking mouth,” Yukino hisses under her breath.

Outside, Maya speaks - “Did you park in the garage?” Pause. “Go do that. I’ll start putting things away.”

“Alright,” the third woman replies, and after a long moment, the distant sound of the door closing is a relief over Tatsuya’s trembling body. He can hear Maya’s shoes on the carpet as she runs to the door, and rattles the doorknob. Yukino finally releases him, pushing him off and into a nearby laundry basket as she opens the door for Maya, who looks anything but pleased.

“What were you _thinking?”_ she asks Yukino, jabbing a finger into her chest. Yukino retreats into herself, and doesn’t look her in the eye. “I thought— I thought you were _joking_ when you said you wanted to go and arrest someone!”

“Why would I joke—” Yukino tries, but then looks at Tatsuya, and her expression sours, mildly. “Maya—babe—I didn’t know you knew him, but doesn’t that freak you out? This guy’s got the same helmet and jacket as the guy in those cameras.”

“Do you have _any_ other proof, or are you just pulling bikers off the street to interrogate them?” Maya pulls back, folding her arms. He’s never seen her so mad. Tatsuya pulls himself off the overfilled laundry basket and presses his back against the bedroom door. Maya’s anger is palpable.

Yukino looks less sheepish, less intimidated, and seems back to a strong sense of frustration. “Uh, _yeah?_ Remember that car chase a couple of weeks ago? With the guy on the motorcycle? Same bike.”

Maya’s expression breaks from anger to shock - as does Tatsuya’s, when his eyes on the ceiling focus on Yukino. She notices - and she then breaks her expression to a smile, a wicked looking smirk that knows what she’s caught. “You have a really nice bike, _Tatsuya._ A NRG 900, right? Someone caught your crash stunt on video, and I went through the license plate frame to hell and _back_ to get your plate.”

She folds her arms. “Then, I found it. Your fuck up for sitting still.”

Maya’s eyes wander over her shoulder to Tatsuya’s - the horror has settle into fear, and sadness. “Tatsuya—please tell me that isn’t true.”

Between the sadness in Maya’s eyes and the assurance of Yukino’s stance, Tatsuya feels a heaviness take a hold of him, wrapping itself around his chest and throat. The room is warm, and it burns him - and pressed against the door, he realizes what corner he’s finally been thrown into.

“It—” He thought he’d be a lot more defiant and angry, if it ever came to this. Not being looked at by Maya like that. “… It’s not something I’m proud of, Maya.”

“But—weren’t you going to police school?” she asks, stepping towards him. “You said you wanted to join the police force, right? Did something happen?”

“He’s still a cop.” Yukino pulls out Tatsuya’s wallet from her back pocket, and throws it to him. “His ID is in there. You're looking a bit _crooked_ there, officer.”

 _“Yukino,”_ Maya warns, glaring over her shoulder at her. Yukino rolls her eyes and turns away, walking over to an unmade bed in the corner of the room and dropping herself on it, arms stretching behind her head. Maya slowly looks at Tatsuya once more, and though sadness lingers, apprehension finds it way on her. “Tatsuya… I thought better of you.”

“Maya—”

“Are you _really_ the biker Yukino is talking about?” Maya gets closer. She stands in his space, leaning her face up at his own. Tatsuya presses himself against the door as far as he can manage. “Be honest with me. _Tell_ me you’re not what she says she is.”

Tatsuya tries to speak - but can’t. The anger starts to come back to her.

“Did you kill those people?”

His eyes wander for a moment, but find their place back on Maya’s face. Quietly, he says - “…Yes. I’m sorry.”

He expects a punch, or a kick, or her hands on his bruised throat and something vicious - but through her furious expression her eyes start to water, and her brow creases, until the tears swell too much and she crumbles. Maya grabs his shirt and heaves a sob into his chest, which makes Yukino leap from the bed and run across the room to her, holding her shoulders and leaning in close to her. Tatsuya cautiously holds her waist, and he is amazed she doesn’t shove his hands off her while she cries.

Words try to form in her sobs, questions and pleas with him - but nothing takes form, her hitched breathing and wails of despair stronger than any reason between her. Yukino leans her face against the back of Maya’s hair, and glares at Tatsuya over her head. She’s taller than both of them, leaning down against her girlfriend with remorse.

Maya soon lifts her head, and gently pushes herself away from between her lover and her friend - or perhaps a once-friend, Tatsuya fears. She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, and sniffles. “Tatsuya—you’re… are you…”

A deep breath. Maya lifts her head. “Are you going to be continuing those things?”

“No,” he says, quickly. “It… it was to protect some people very dear to me. And it’s done now. It was done yesterday—two nights ago.” He puts his hands on her shoulders, and guides her to look at him. “Maya—I swear, I’m not saying things to just quiet you, or anything. I _promise,_ it’s over. It’s _been_ over. It won’t happen ever again.”

She looks at him - deep hope in her eyes, hands over his hands. She flutters her eyes to blink the last of her tears, and then breathes in again. “You promise.”

“I promise.”

“I believe you.” She turns her head to Yukino, and slips from Tatsuya’s touch to take her hands. “Yukino— I’m not mad at you. I’m sorry for raising my voice.”

“I kind of deserved it,” Yukino says sheepishly, and Maya shakes her head and places her hand gently against her mouth.

“No- you didn’t.” Her breathing has steadied, and her tears only linger. “You… I want you to keep this between us. Please don’t report it.”

Yukino, though humbled, looks bewildered. “What—that’s crazy! Why should we keep this quiet?!”

“Because he—he promised,” Maya says, her hands curling shut as she tries to steady her tears some more. “We’re not going to report it… right now. I’m going to call someone-” she looks over her shoulder at Tatsuya, “—who has a really, _really_ powerful defense lawyer. I know him from a friend. But then we’re going to have to solve this problem, Tatsuya.”

He nods. Solemn, quiet.

“Are you… angry?”

“No.” It’s the most clearest truth he’s told in weeks. “I understand, Maya.”

“We’re going to figure this out,” she says, “I hope that we can make things easier for you.”

“You don’t have to help me,” he says, stepping forward to place a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve done this to myself. I… appreciate it, but you don’t have to risk yourselves-”  
“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “I want to help. I want to set you on the right track again.”

He doesn’t cry. He feels the wave with the urge and sadness and mourning - but he doesn’t. He feels as if he doesn’t deserve it. Instead, he nods once more, as Maya reaches up and places her hand on his, linking the three of them together.

* * *

 

“It’s a nice apartment,” Maya says, looking out of her window and up at the shadows cast over the brick.

“It’s alright,” Tatsuya replies, and looks instead over Maya’s shoulder to the garage. Remarkably - the garage is still open, but his bike remains. His brother’s car is gone, however, as it was on his return. “My brother rents it. I pay him.”

“That sounds nice.” Maya leans back in her chair, and looks at Tatsuya with a smile. “Will you be okay going up?”

“Of course. Thanks for not throwing me out to walk home.”

“It’s the least I can do after… um, your ride with Yukino.” Her laugh is a little forced, but it has the charm that reminds Tatsuya of how much love sits in Maya’s heart.  
Tatsuya scratches the back of his head, staring past her head and out the window again. “Is she your… roommate?”

“No. Well, yes, but,” Maya mirrors the motion, with a bit of a sheepish, embarrassed grin now on her face. “I have two roommates. You met the one I’m dating, though.”

“You—congratulations,” he tries, staring Maya through, and it makes her laugh - a lot lighter, and a lot happier.

“My other roommate is named Ulala. She picked me up so we could go grocery shopping.”

Tatsuya’s hand is on the car door when he pauses. “—Is she a kick-boxing teacher? I think I know a student of hers.”

“She is! Women’s kick-boxing.” Maya looks at him brightly, brighter than the setting sun. “What a funny coincidence! I’ll have to tell her. What’s her name?”

“Lisa.” The door is open now, and he takes off his seatbelt. “She’s… quite the character.”

“I’ll call you later this week, Tatsuya.” She leans towards the open door when he steps out, smiling warmly; honestly. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Yeah.” Tatsuya looks up at his apartment, then down into the car. “Thank you, Maya.”


	19. velvet evenings

“The old man had a lot of useless shit on his computer,” Reiji grumbles. “Plug the charger in for me, Toudou.”

When there’s more than Reiji, Tatsuya, and Tadashi fucking Satomi in the hospital room, it starts to feel a lot more crowded. At the same time, Tadashi Satoshi’s artificially inflated ego could qualify for its own person, so perhaps it isn’t much different than before. A bouquet bought by Maki sits on the ledge below the window, watered in a beautifully painted ceramic pitcher. A third chair has been pulled in from an unoccupied room so Masao can sit.

Naoya moves past Tatsuya, who stares ahead in distant thought, to get the laptop charger out from a computer suitcase and plug into the computer, leading the end up to Reiji. Reiji sits up in his hospital bed, the meal table pulled out to support a sleep, modern laptop, the same one lifted from the Ishigami mansion. A large, bulky hard drive plugs into one of the removable disk drives.

“You better not be looking through his dirty folders,” Masao giggles. Reiji lifts his head to glare at the idiot.

“You’re a comedic fucking genius, Inaba.” Reiji presses something on the keyboard to pull up another window. “I’m looking for whatever shit he has saved. Bastard never cleaned his inbox, so there’s more shit that I have to sift through.”

“How’d you get the hard drive?” Naoya asks. “Kenta?”

Reiji nods. “The vacancy in the head office made it a little easier to pull everything off his computer. Lots of pictures-”

“I told you!”

“-and lots of backed up emails. So far… just people back in Japan.” Reiji reaches behind himself to scratch his lower back, presumably over the scar. “I can’t read Japanese anymore. Mostly looking for the English stuff.”

“What do you even hope to find?” Naoya asks, arms on his knees.

“I don’t know. I want to see who he was getting his money from, that’s for sure. He was making way more than his fellow entrepreneurs back in Japan.” A hand grazes over the track pad, clicking on something. “—Can you get me some paper, Suou?”

Naoya has to elbow Tatsuya back to the present. Tatsuya scrambles to the bag, and finds a small notepad, and passes it up to the bed. Reiji takes a pen from his bedside table, pops the pen tip, and begins to write a list.

“What’s so interesting?” Masao asks.

 _“Quiet.”_ Reiji glances from paper to screen, adding details to each name - Tatsuya gets out of his chair and walks to Reiji’s side, then looks down. On the paper, he’s begun to write names out; some familiar, some not. If asked, Tatsuya would only be able to name any on basis of the individual being somewhat famous, but none stand out as anyone he could know personally. Ishigami, Nanjo, Kurosu, Sasaki, Hanamura - all with details beside them.

“Mostly other businesses?” Tatsuya asks, and Reiji nods. He taps next to Nanjo, leaving light blue dots on the paper from the ink.

“That one interests me.” Reiji opens an email directed to the Nanjo name, not looking up at Tatsuya. “Nanjo is the biggest name in the city - fuck, the entire east coast. Talking to celebrities is one thing, Kei fucking Nanjo? I wasn’t aware he was important enough to walk next to him.”

“Maybe he was just begging him for more cash,” Masao offers, now looking at his phone - as he always is.

Tatsuya leans against the steel headrest of the bed to look closer at the screen, which changes to another email, this time a response from Nanjo representatives - or perhaps Kei Nanjo himself, given the scathing, personal response, with plenty of expletives to leave any unprepared party shrinking from the barrage of insults. Mostly, he finds the absurdity entertaining.

Reiji leans back against the pillow. “… Seems you’re right. Nanjo wants no part of his begging act.”

“But you said he was already wealthy,” Naoya interrupts. On the other side of the room, Masao smirks to himself. “Was he begging from other people, or was he doing side work for more money?”

“Shit. Both? I don’t know yet.” Reiji scratches his head, and leans Tatsuya’s way - Tatsuya responds by standing up, off the bed. “Don’t think he was having any troubles, but I’ll have to look.”

He looks up at Tatsuya;- hopeful, inquisitive, looking for the chance that Tatsuya might have an idea - or maybe that he could offer something, a little legal help. Maya’s sad smile has remain in his head ever since their encounter - so he stays quiet, instead shrugging. Mercifully, Reiji accepts the response, and returns to opening tab after tab of different emails without regard to read them one by one.

The door suddenly opens - a woman in blue nurses smocks enters, holding the door open. “Doctor Nicholai will be with you shortly, Mister Kido. He wants to check on how you’re recovering from the surgery.”

“Don’t need it,” Reiji says, looking back at the computer. “You can tell him I’m fine.”

“I’m afraid it’s mandatory, Mister Kido.”

Reiji sighs, and looks at Naoya. “Are you guys going to go, or will you wait in the lobby?”

“It will be a while, I’m afraid.” Reiji’s glare at the nurse humbles her, and Tatsuya rolls his eyes and pushes him, gently, as a warning. “You can return in approximately an hour and a half, gentlemen. I’m sure you’re keeping him company.” Her complacent smile returns, a lot brighter than it was before.

Tatsuya takes the laptop from Reiji and returns it to the laptop bag, unplugging the charger and storing it as well. Naoya and Masao get up from their seats and see themselves out past the nurse, as Tatsuya returns the bag to its spot on the empty guest seats, under the window.

“Hey,” Reiji says, and Tatsuya turns around to look at him. “—Can you leave me some smokes?”

Tatsuya reaches into his pocket and tosses the box on the bed. “There’s a couple left. Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Reiji says, and Tatsuya walks past the despairing nurse, who stares at the box in Reiji’s hands.

* * *

“He actually liked them, right?” Maki asks, looking over her shoulder at Tatsuya.

“Of course he did,” Tatsuya says, eyes out the window. “Said he was thankful you’d think of him at all.”

Maki’s smile is warm, flushed with a humble blush and caring relief. “That’s so kind of him. I hope he gets better.”

“I’d have just sent a card,” Naoya says, and his expression breaks to a grin when Maki lightly pushes him with a loose hand.

“Because you always need help with gift ideas!” she chastises him, playful and well meaning, before sitting back into her seat. “How close are we? Yuka’s asking where we are.”

“We should be coming up on it now.” Naoya scratches the back of his head, and his glance to Maki is brief before looking back on the road. “Are we meeting her there, or are we actually staying—?”

“She tells me it’s a really, really classy place. There’s more than just drinks there, even if it’s meant to be a bar.” Maki traces the large flowers decorating her sun dress, pink and red decorating a white fabric. “You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to, Naoya.”

“I’ll just have one.” Naoya looks up at the rear view window, eyes on Tatsuya. “Unless you’d rather drive us…?”

“Maybe.” Tatsuya sits up, but doesn’t move his eyes from the store fronts and lingering pedestrians. “We’ll have to see.”

“Oh! I see her,” Maki points forward, and lightly holds Naoya’s arm. Down the stretch of road, and under the train tracks that shadow the streets of Broker, there is a girl - glamorous, her blonde hair pulled up in tight tails that it can’t be comfortable on her scalp, and bulky sunglasses. When the car pulls up to the side of the road, she pulls down the glasses to look at Maki hang out of the window.

“Yuka!” she waves, then climbs out of the front seat, and suddenly, she seems a lot taller, staring down at the tiny girl.

“Hey,” the girl responds, looking at the men left in the car. “Whose the red head?”

“He’s a friend of Naoya’s. His name is Tatsuya.” Maki beckons Tatsuya out of the car. “Naoya can go park. We’ll see you inside!”

Yuka fixes her sunglasses and brings a colourful iced drink to her mouth, sipping from a hot pink straw. “I think I’ve heard of you. Aren’t you, like, a cop or something?”  
Tatsuya scratches the back of his head. “Um. Yes, I am. You might be thinking of my brother, though.”

“Yeah. The one I’m thinking of has glasses.” Another sip. She looks away from him and pulls out her phone to check the time. “I wanna go in already, Maki. There’s this singer on stage soon who is so hot. I wanna get a good table.”

“You’ll have to finish your drink, first-” Maki almost finishes her sentence before Yuka drops the half finished cup into a trash bin, and starts walking down the sidewalk. Maki follows after her with quick, short steps, and Tatsuya finds his place behind the girls, quietly following them and tuning out the buzz of their words.

The bar in question possesses a building front that resembles more of a movie theatre than a bar - an older one, with a marquee above the entrance. Outside, several patrons slip behind ornate front doors, guarded by a woman in blue. When Yuka and Maki step to the bouncer, Tatsuya is bumped into by Naoya, who heaves a greeting, halting after a run.

“Four of us,” Yuka says, pointing behind her at the two men just catching up. “Are we, like, allowed to just pick a seat?”

“You will be escorted to a specific table,” the woman says, in a voice clear as beautiful crystal. She steps to the side and opens the door, revealing darkness and shadow. Tatsuya tries to peer inside - the blue hues of the dining hall are just as dark. “But, I believe you will find any location in the dining hall to allow for an excellent view of the stage.”

“Thanks.” Yuka’s glance is half-lived, walking in the open door. Maki looks at the guard, a hand pulled to her chest. She seems to lose her tension when Naoya places his hand on her waist.

“Are we on reservation…?” She asks, but the woman smiles wide, and gestures her inside.

“The guests of the Velvet Room are always expected, and arrive when the time is right. Your password of the night is Jatayu. Enjoy the show.”

Tatsuya follows his three companions inside, and becomes enveloped in a warmth unfamiliar once the door closes behind him. The walls seems completely black, with deep blue wall lights illuminating their path to the far dining room. The blue is marked with occasional white, and it casts dark shadows over Naoya’s face when he glances back and Tatsuya and beckons him along. The white of Maki’s dress illuminates in the dark light, and Naoya’s dark jacket makes him almost invisible.

A man in a blue suit, not unlike the uniform of the bouncer, guides the four to a table, to the left of the stage. The booth is lined with blue leather, and sits around a circular table in white cloth. Maki and Naoya sit in the centre, and Tatsuya takes to Naoya’s side, as Yuka slips in beside Maki. A piano sits upon the stage, but no one is there. Before Tatsuya can ask the waiter anything, he has vanished. Under the warm white light of the table, it is difficult to see anyone else within the bar - dark shadows move around them, from table to bar and back again - the only figure visible is a man behind the bar, head down with a glass in hand.

“Where did you hear about this place?” Maki asks Yuka, who removes her sunglasses.

“Uh… I don’t remember? I think Kumi told me.” Yuka twirls her hair, and opens a menu placed upon the table. “Oh my god, it’s impossible to see in here. Pick me something light, I don’t want to read through this.”

Maki pulls Yuka’s menu over her own, squinting to see through the shadow cast over them. Naoya pulls his own towards Tatsuya, and holds it out for both of them to read.  
“Would you like to order a drink?” A voice speaks and draws the four’s attention immediately - a woman in a sparkling blue dress smiles in the shadows, her white hair spilling down in thick curls. In her hands, she holds a black notebook. Her smile is sly, and it doesn’t comfort anyone.

“Y—Yes,” Tatsuya says, brushing off the startle. “Is… there a drink menu? This is only dinner—”

“I have it with me,” she says, tilting her head. “Can you tell me the word my sister gave to you at the door?”

Tatsuya glances at Naoya and Maki, then back at the mysterious woman. “Jatayu,” he says, struggling with the word over his tongue.

Remarkably, the woman’s smile warms, coy and playful, then she opens the black notebook to pass a white, folded card, that opens to a list of words marked by Roman numerals. Above the list is a single phrase - The Arcana.

“The Arcana menu is dedicated only to our guests who are given the blessing of my sister and our _Pakhan,”_ the woman explains, pulling a pen from the spiral spine of her black notebook, clicking the end and pressing the ink tip to the paper. “It is given to those they consider elite guests of the evening, and are welcomed to try our divine assortment of spirits and mixed drinks.

Tatsuya’s skeptical browse of the menu causes her hand to reach against his shoulder and press, gently. He doesn’t want to be touched. Her hand is very cold. “We promise that whatever your choice will be exactly what you desire it to be. None of our beverages or meals include common allergens or dietary restricted ingredients.”

“I want a Lovers,” Yuka suddenly says, “Is it pink?”

“I shall inform Fyodor to colour it just as you wish, my dear,” the woman says, and writes down the order into her book. Naoya tugs on the card and glances over the drinks.  
“I’d like Tower, then.” He glances to Maki, who points to one of the numbers. “And… a Moon. Order something, Tats.”

Naoya hands the card back, and Tatsuya browses down the menu, frowning. He sighs, and then finally hands the card to the woman. “Fortune, I guess.”

Her brow raises when she marks down the remaining drinks, and her smile remains sly. It doesn’t unsettle him, but he’s not sure if he should trust this woman. “They will be brought to you promptly. If you have any questions… call for Margarita.” With that, she turns and leaves, leaving the four to muse the menu.

“I think it’ll be exciting,” Maki says, looking through the pages. “It’s like gambling the drink you get. It’s supposed to be really good here, I think we’ll enjoy whatever we get.”

“If you say so,” Tatsuya responds, browsing down the menu himself - until the lights dim for a passing moment, and a voice, thick with an accent he can’t place, rumbles over the dining hall, which hushes to silence.

 _“Ladies and gentlemen… welcome to the Velvet Room - it is with great honour that my family and I serve you this evening,”_ the voice speaks, belonging to a man who is perhaps old with age. Tatsuya can hear the grin in his smile - and he wonders why that discomforts him. _“Tonight’s musical accompaniment is a guest dear to my heart… please allow her to bring you comfort and peace as you dine among one another.”_

A waiter passes their table and places four lemon-topped glasses of water so quickly Tatsuya doesn’t catch their face in the somber glow. The lights illuminate once more, though with a spotlight facing the stage, shrouded with deep blue curtains. Tatsuya removes the lemon and allows it to float in the ice water as the gentle notes of a piano begin to play - a woman sings by the instrument, and in the light, he sees Yuka’s eyes brighten.

“That’s her,” she says, tapping Maki repeatedly, urgently. “Her name’s Belladonna - she’s beautiful. She’s from Italy.”

Maki’s own expression blooms into a bewildered surprise when she lifts her head. “She is. She must be some opera singer; her voice is like… _diamonds…”_

Tatsuya takes a sip from the glass, glancing through the shadowed crowd at seats and crossing the floor. A different woman in blue passes their table, and begins to serve several coloured drinks in unique glass shapes. She first serves what appear to be coasters, but they seem to thin to be such.

The drinks come next, and they are placed atop the cards. The woman slips her tray under her arm. “Please enjoy your beverages before you lift your cards.”  
“What are they for?” Maki asks, pulling her drink of deep purple and soft white slush towards her.

“The Arcana is the means by which all is revealed,” is all she says, in a cryptic whisper. She is gone before Tatsuya has time to lift his glass - a collins glass of solid crystal, stirred with liquor and ice. Bringing it close to mouth - it smells like whiskey. The taste is — rich. _Phenolic._ It lingers in his mouth when he swallows, the ice rolling against the glass.

His eyes roam to the stage, where the woman sings a beautiful aria, light and elegant - yet grazes the depth of soul. He never considered himself much of a curator of music and dining - not at all, actually - but. It’s a change from violence and revenge. He drinks from his glass as deep as he can, bracing himself for the burn that comes with whiskey’s… _dignity._ Naoya glances at him and turns to a smile, his arm around Maki’s shoulder as she watches the performer as well, her glass in her hands and the straw touching her lip.

Tatsuya’s smile is brief, but genuine. He can see Yuka pull her card out from under her pink glass, already drained to a halfway mark. She flips it over, and her brow raises.  
“What kind of card is this?” She asks, turning it around to show the table. Two shapeless bodies in harmony, embracing one another, though she holds it upside down, the reflective surface of the card obscuring any detail.

“Oh - it’s a tarot deck,” Maki says, and takes Yuka’s card to lay out. “That makes a lot more sense. I guess it’s like… your fortune.”

“What’s Lovers mean?”

“It’s about relationships and decision making, mostly.”

“Well, if this is meant to indicate I’m about to date the singer of tonight, I’m so ready for that,” Yuka says, smiling mischievously and taking a sip from her glass. The strawberry scent is almost overwhelming, even across the table - Tatsuya’s not going to try thinking about what Maki must be experiencing.

“I love this drink,” Maki says, stirring the purple and white contents with her straw. “Is this a food based tarot reading? That’s kind of funny - like your thirst determines your fortune. I think I’ll ask Margaret if there’s a guidebook or something to learn about the cards.” When she drinks again, she giggles, as the ice tingles her mouth.  
“Her name is Margarita, babe,” Naoya says, holding a shorter, wider glass, the ice of his own drink stirring quietly.

“Oh—my bad.” Her eyes fall on the glass, and she frowns. “Are you sure you should be drinking? Maybe ask for something non-alcoholic if you’re still going to drive us.”

Naoya looks down at the glass. He looks a little mournful before he places it on the table, closer to Tatsuya. “You take it, then. I’ll order a water next time she’s at our table.”  
Tatsuya places the colourful beverage to the side, grimacing at the sweetness of whatever blue sugar-like substance must be rimmed along the drink. “Thanks. I’ll treat it well.”

Naoya grins again. The cabaret dims itself when Belladonna’s aria concludes, and the rumble of hands clapping fills the hall instead.

* * *

 

“The Wheel of Fortune is all about—well, luck,” Maki reads, a small folded booklet open in her hands. She holds her phone’s flashlight over it, bright and harsh in the darkness of the car. “But it ultimately represents highs and lows in life—good and bad moments can always change.”

“Can you even tell if it’s going to be good or bad?” Yuka distantly asks, eyes barely held open while she stares out the back window. The way she’s slouched, Tatsuya’s not sure if she’s entirely sober.

“That’s what ‘reverse’ cards mean, Yuka.” Maki turns to the last folded page, then back to the front. “Tatsuya’s card was upright, so it must be something good. If it was reverse, it’d be predicting bad luck. Yours was upright, too.”

“Thank God,” she says, kicking her legs out and bumping into Maki’s chair. “I want a girlfriend.”

“I know you do, Yuka.”

“Rise Kujikawa’s got a girlfriend… _I_ should have a girlfriend…”

“Rise Kujikawa’s on her third girlfriend in two years,” Maki sighs, folding the paper and reaching over to Naoya’s jacket, slipping the paper in. “I don’t think you want to date someone for popularity points.”

“Shut up, Maki,” Yuka says, slouching on her hand and pushing her cheek up. “Your man is driving us home… you can just say those things for fun…”

Maki looks up at Naoya, and smiles coyly - his own smile is afforded when he finally looks from the road, lingering until the car ahead drives forward. Tatsuya stops looking into the front seat, leaning over into the door and watching the last of the city’s pedestrians roam the night. The car gets a lot darker once Maki puts her phone away - not much quieter, with Yuka continuing to lament her relationship status.

Tatsuya feels the hum of his phone in his pocket. He pulls it out - Katsuya’s inquiry to his location is marked with a second text of multiple question marks.

_out with naoya & maki._

_Are you going to be home soon???_

_i guess._

Watching Katsuya try to text makes him irrationally angry sometimes.

_:/_

\- Maybe not angry, but it certainly hits him with disinterest and boredom. He puts his phone away, and mirrors the slouch against the window that Yuka has. Her murmuring has quieted to a slurry of bitter, tired words that don’t connect to one another, and her eyes close to the hum of the car. The Algonquin Bridge obscures the illuminated buildings of the distant island, its pillars made dark by the night.


	20. end of the line

He hasn’t the time to put the cigarette out before Tamaki finds him. She steps close-  _very close_ \- and only after Tadashi Satomi grabs her and pulls on her arm does Tatsuya realize there’s burning hot rage consuming her expression.

 _“Captain Katsuya_ wants to see you,” Tadashi says, his grip on Tamaki tightening when she pulls against his hand. Tatsuya’s brow furrows when Tamaki whips around, and only shakes Tadashi’s grip then.

“Don’t touch me,” she hisses, jabbing a finger into his uniform with her rough jab.

“Don’t kill our coworkers.”

“I’ll start with you if you _touch me again.”_

Tatsuya drags the fading red ash of his cigarette against the brick of the building, watching them cautiously. “Is everything alright?”

Tamaki turns her attention back to Tatsuya - neither of them seem too happy that he’s spoken. He can see Tadashi try to speak, but Tamaki’s response is quicker, sharper.

“No. Get to his office.” Without another sound, she storms back the way she came, down the length of the street and around the white stone of the station’s entrance. Tadashi is not far behind her - a much slower stride, his hands in his pockets, and he doesn’t allow Tatsuya another glance.

Quietly, he opens the side door of the building, and walks back in, the electronic lock clicking shut.

* * *

Nobody looks at him. With the glare of Tamaki cast over him, it feels a lot more suspicious than it ought to be.

It’s not particularly _hostile,_ but the silence becomes more potent, with the walk from hallways, to cubicle, to glass door a lot more quiet, a lot more still. Few people pass from desk to desk, and there is not one phone call being made. Tatsuya can see Tadashi leaning on Shiori’s desk, and only he glances over, unblinking, and smug - perhaps without the presence of Tamaki, his arrogance seeps back in.

Tatsuya doesn’t like many things about Tadashi. One of them is that he is very skilled in making you think he knows a lot more than you let on. He doesn’t like the idea that he could be right.

Every step to Katsuya’s office feels a little heavier. He doesn’t want to think about the possibilities that start to rest on his shoulders.  
He knocks on the glass door.

No matter the day, no matter the occasion, it feels _different_ whenever he enters Katsuya’s office. Perhaps it’s the reality that Katsuya is his boss, and Tatsuya is his subordinate. From asking him about lunch to telling him about each interview they’ve conducted - it feels weird. Or wrong. He’s not sure where it lies, ultimately. Maybe he’ll just never get used to the idea that Katsuya is something more than a guardian. Like he can’t turn the corner without him there.

“Sit down.” There is only a beige folder on his desk. The keyboard to his desktop computer has been pushed away. Not a coffee mug or forgotten notepad sits next to him - just a red pen. Tatsuya quietly sits across from his brother.

“Tamaki sent me,” Tatsuya says, plainly. Katsuya’s hands are folded over the folder.

“I intentionally sent her so she could jog your memory,” Katsuya responds - distantly. “Tadashi was there so she wouldn’t lose her temper.”

“What is this about?”

Katsuya releases his hand and presses and open palm on the folder. “You weren’t home a few nights ago. Where were you?”

The way Tatsuya’s eyes widen makes Katsuya a touch angrier. The way he glances at his hand makes Katsuya glare.

Silence sits between the brothers. Shadows of the office’s occupants pass the blinded windows, lingering for fractions of seconds, trying to peer in and witness the two. Katsuya allows the burden to swell in Tatsuya’s throat, the threat of the unknown, of danger, of revelations - all blooming inside of him.

“Tatsuya.” Katsuya doesn’t move. “Where were you, five days ago.”

“With—friends,” he tries. Katsuya remains still, but he can envision something coming undone.

“Five days ago, Takahisa Kandori was murdered in an attack on the SEBEC headquarters.” Katsuya’s eyes drag down to the folder, where a filled in police report sits, atop the papers. “Four individuals were seen. One was identified as the black helmeted individual that we’ve been watching.”

Tatsuya’s hands slip to his lap.

“The same individual was in a car chase in Broker several weeks ago, as well as seen escaping the Ideo Hazama murder scene.” Is there a sketch? He can’t imagine they’d put a sketch in the folder. Maybe pictures, maybe television footage- “The helmet is in your possession, Tatsuya.”

“There are plenty of bikers in the city, Katsuya.” Tatsuya’s voice remains steady, even with the knots in his throat coiling together to make something intangible, unrelenting. “I wasn’t in Broker, and I wasn’t at the apartment.”

“I have an eyewitness report of your helmet,” Katsuya replies almost immediately, a terse interruption with a loud enough voice that it silences Tatsuya. “She saw it in your possession. She heard your confession of involvement.”

Tatsuya feels heat rolling up his spine, across his throat. He stares at his brother’s hands and the way they fold over the report and go down the typed details. Anger seeps into Katsuya, like blood in white fabric.

“You have search results for Takahisa Kandori on your computer,” Katsuya’s words are almost exasperated, and only then Tatsuya lifts his head with a burst of apprehension, anger.

“Do you have a _warrant_ to go through my belongings?”

Katsuya looks up over his glasses, only briefly. “I wrote it up myself.”

Tatsuya’s hands grip his knees. He grits his back teeth, and Katsuya looks back down at the papers with a nonchalance. A shadow at the window lingers, but a second ushers them away.

“There was a used pistol in your bedroom, as well - you’re lucky that I can’t trace where it’s been just yet.” Katsuya’s words slowly strengthen with anger once more, and then - he looks up, proper, and lowers the top page back on to the pile. “Tatsuya - you better understand how _terrible_ this looks.”

“Katsuya,” he says, a weakness of fear setting into him. “I swear, _swear_ that this isn’t what it looks like-”

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” The folder closes, and Katsuya sits up in his seat, but his voice is nothing more than exasperation and disappointment, even when he clenches his fists and leans forward. “Do you know what this means? This investigation is going to go _far_ beyond our conversation, Tatsuya. This is going to Inspector Shimazu. This is going to _the Commissioner._ Even if you haven’t done anything-”

“I _haven’t!”_ Tatsuya almost gets out of his seat, but Katsuya is quicker - he’s on his feet, and his hands hit the table with the force of how he pushes himself out of the leather seat.

 _“Quiet!”_ he shouts, words alone pushing Tatsuya back against the chair, struck with apprehensive terror. Katsuya’s head lowers, back to the desk, but he doesn’t sit himself down. “I won’t let myself be accused of nepotism by keeping you here, no matter the verdict…”

Finally - he sits down, and opens his drawer to find a yellow notepad. Katsuya lifts the red pen, and begins writing. “You will officially be given a suspension - in the meantime, I am directly giving you administrative leave until Inspector Shimazu officiates it. Don’t think of it as a lighter punishment - the result will be the same.”

Tatsuya’s head feels light. Broken from his mind. Katsuya looks up once again, and his expression tries to stay firm, stay harsh, but the familial sadness breaks through and his glare turns tragic.

“You’re… going to have to go to court. I don’t know when that could be. Might be next month, could be Christmas.” The pen lowers against the paper. “I can’t promise you a lawyer.”

“I’ll get one,” Tatsuya replies, a lot more quieter; a lot more distant.

“Tatsuya. I don’t want this to be true.” Katsuya looks back at the paper, and takes the pen for a brief moment, only to let it roll from his grasp. “I don’t… want to do this. Not to you.”

The brothers lift their heads. Their eyes meet. Katsuya’s mouth opens, as if to say something, as if to take it all back, fall for the lies - but instead, only a sigh comes out. He holds a hand out against the desk, palm open with curled fingers.

“Give me your badge,” Katsuya says, forlorn. “We’ve already seized your gun.”

Tatsuya doesn’t look away from him as he reaches for his badge, slipping it from his back pocket and placing it on the desk, next to Katsuya’s hand. His brother looks at it, and pulls it towards him, inspecting the surface.

“You’re dismissed,” he sighs. “Go home.”

Tatsuya sits up, wordless, and leaves the office. Tadashi stands before him, but he can’t hear the muttered jeer he passes to Tatsuya under his breath when he passes. He keeps his head up, staring at the distant wall before him, even as eyes begin to roam towards him, the silence returning, with the touch of suspicious horror. He can hear someone following behind him, through the desks and bodies, and he would guess it’s Tadashi.

The bitter thoughts take their place in his mind and throat, and it keeps him from turning around and saying something he’ll regret. When he exits the greeting room and into the streets of Liberty City, the sun is shining. It feels wrong.

* * *

 

Maya’s arms are around him as soon as he opens her apartment door. She presses her face into his shoulder, wordless for just a little while longer. The smell of fresh bread lingers in her kitchen. He leans into her, and his arms soon wrap around her torso, leaning into her. Her silence lingers.

“Tatsuya,” she eventually says, quiet and muted from his hair, “I’m so sorry.”

He parts his face from her shoulder, and then sighs in the space between the two of them. “Don’t apologize. It’s my fault.”

Her hands draw up to cup his face - her thumbs brush against his cheeks, possibly expecting the memory of tears. It remains dry - something even Tatsuya finds notable. Maybe it’s the emptiness and shame sitting inside of him, taking up too much space; not enough for sadness. She pats one of his cheeks, and the other hand slips back to his shoulder, pulling him inside and closing the door.

“I’ll… call my friend soon,” she says, leading him to the couch - sitting down on it feels strange, when sitting in front of the rug Yukino had made him acquainted with. The kitchen opens to the living area, and she hovers around the table. “Are you… going to stay at home? Your brother might make it…”

“Awkward,” Tatsuya sighs, leaning his head back against the couch, arms hanging loosely on the cushions. “I don’t know. I’ll have to make some calls myself.”

“I’d let you stay here, but…” Maya’s own hand reaches to her head, scratching at the back of her hair. “There’s not much space. Yukino and I have our own rooms, but Ulala is in the other bedroom… and I don’t know if either of them would even let you…”

“You don’t—have to force it for me,” Tatsuya replies, looking at her as earnest as he can. “I’ll find someone. I still have friends.”

Maya nods, then looks at the table. “… Do you want some bread?”

Tatsuya takes a moment before he nods.

Maya fetches a knife. The only noise of the apartment is the scrape of baked bread being sliced on a wooden bread board, cut for two. The room is warm - the windows are open, and the wind only stirs the drapes. The warmth of the oven lingers in the room as well, a comfort that stifles him, even when Maya sits down next to him with a shared plate of a baked snack. She keeps the plate in her lap, and lifts the slice up to bite.

“I feel… responsible, though,” she admits, wiping the back of her mouth of lingering crumbs. “Partially.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Tatsuya says, eyes on the ceiling.

“I made you confess to me.” Maya lowers her head. “Ulala told me she… had to take action.”

Tatsuya feels the flare of horror, anger, terror and sadness in one passing moment. Instead of any reaction alike to those - he folds his hands over his stomach. The air of sickness comes over him, but only for a moment. “So that was his _eyewitness.”_

Maya puts the bread back on the plate. “She did it in front of me. I could have… I don’t know, taken her phone.”

Tatsuya glances over. “She didn’t go in person?” Maya’s hands come over her face and she rests in her palms.

“She… called her boyfriend. He’s a police officer. And told him to write it all down…”

The epiphany hits Tatsuya harder than anything has hit him today. Harder than Katsuya. Harder than Tamaki. He sighs, light, then again, deep - he closes his eyes tight, even as Maya turns her head to look at him. She reaches a hand over to touch his, and it diffuses the flare that starts inside of his chest.

Tatsuya opens his eyes. “I’m going to call someone.”

“Yuki’s at work, and so is Ulala.” Maya pulls her hand away, and returns to eating her bread. “I’ll let you know when they’re coming home, if… you don’t want to be around them.”

His phone is out, the contact list already pulled up. “Thank you.”

Tatsuya hesitates before tapping on any contact on his screen. The thought of telling Naoya anything makes his skin crawl, worse than it has before. He quietly scrolls back up, and exhales a sigh he was keeping before pressing on the contact list and brings the phone to his ear.

_“…Yooooo, Tatsu-baby. What’s shaking?”_

“Eikichi,” he says, tested and exhausted. “Do you… think I could stay at your place for a while?”

 _“Hang on—you wanna_ what _now? Now, Michel’s not the type to turn away the sick and needy, but he’s gotta know what’s goin’ on at the homestead, baby! I thought you lived with your big bro?”_

Tatsuya glances at Maya, who has since stood up off the couch and wandered back to the dining room table. “It’s… a long story. Things are rough right now. I can’t stay at his place. If you have—a room, or a couch…”

The sigh that Eikichi gives isn’t very hopeful. _“Man, I don’t know, Tatsuya—I’ve got a full house ‘round here, you know? Gas Chamber’s a humble thing, but there’s still three of us, and, you know, the lady-”_

“It’s alright, then.” Tatsuya leans forward on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll figure it out. I can call someone else.”

 _“You know,”_ he says, the smile coming back into his words, _“Lisa would totally let you crash in her little studio. Anything for you, lover-boy.”_

“I’m not in the mood for any teasing.”

_“You still oughta send her a call. Can’t hurt. It’d break her little bitty heart to turn you down-”_

“Thank you,” Tatsuya interrupts, terse. “Eikichi. I’ll call you later.”

_“Tough crowd. Good luck, Tatsu-baby.”_

Maya’s eyes are back on him when he hangs up. She ducks her head back down when Tatsuya lifts his head—and he sighs.

“She’ll probably say yes,” Tatsuya remarks. “Lisa lives on her own.”

“If you need anything… I’ll help,” Maya says, returning to glance at him, the worry struck on her face like an ailment. “If Yuki and I put you in this predicament… I’ll be sure that we help you get out of it, until your job gets sorted out.”

Tatsuya finds himself laying a bit more on the couch, a leg half hanging off the edge. “You’re too kind, Maya.”

“You can never be too kind—or too supportive,” she says, a smile cracking her mournful stare. “I always try to stay positive, you know.”


	21. walking with kings

_Ecstatic_ couldn’t even _begin_ to describe Lisa when she welcomed Tatsuya at her fiftieth floor apartment. It waned when Tatsuya spent the evening laying on her couch without a word, but it at least was replaced by some kind of sympathy and understanding.

The apartment is trying to be a studio apartment - the couch overlaps where a kitchen table ought to be, but it’s built with a single room in mind, so the wood is polished and the windows are large - an illusion of space. However, there is a short hallway past the small kitchen, which leads to a bathroom and bedroom. The first night he stays on Lisa’s couch, he lays his head on the cushion closest to those doors, allowing Lisa some privacy come morning. The sun doesn’t greet him, instead rising behind the building and casting its shadow across downtown Algonquin.

He was already awake before Maya called him and told him she was going to come over - even if he remembered to disable his work alarm, his body wanted to wake. When Maya arrived, Lisa looked less than thrilled, but kept to the kitchen.

Maya wears a brown suit with a skirt - either she’s on the clock, or just got home from work. Different than her pink cardigans and t-shirts with cute graphics on them.

“I got you a lawyer,” she says, handing a coffee to Tatsuya. He feels guilty taking it. “There’s… a catch, though.”

Tatsuya sighs into the open slit of the cup, the hot air forced out and blowing against his face. “Feels like there always is.”

“I promise it’s legal,” she assures him, a hand reaching out to grab his arm - almost. She stops herself short before she touches him. “When I spoke to my friend—her name is Eriko, and I promise she’s sympathetic, she’s the one I had to talk to first—she got me in touch with her business partner, to tell him about the situation.”

Tatsuya drinks the coffee too quickly - it burns his tongue, but he barely notices.

“He…” she sighs. “He’s kind of a tough nut to crack.”

“Attorneys can be appointed to people who get arrested, Maya,” Tatsuya replies.

“But you’re _not_ under arrest - and you probably don’t want to go out and _get_ arrested just to get a free attorney, Tatsuya.” Maya frowns, drinking from her own cup - the smell is sweet, far less strong. It’s probably tea with plenty of sugar. “He already agreed. He wants you to work for him for a while before he gives you something, though.”

“He knows I don’t have much time, right?”

Maya scratches her cheek. “Admittedly… he wants to know if you’re worth the investment.”

“What kind of help _are_ you?” Lisa’s voice is sharp and terse, and cuts in through the conversation as she crosses the room, in front of the window. She holds a bright red plastic bottle, one of the bottles that get sold to fitness coaches and energy drink sponsors - the amount that clutter the cabinet above Lisa’s sink could give you a bottle for every day of the month. On her face, she glares at Maya, who seems to humble herself.

“It’s out of my control,” Maya admits, “But all of the work is legal - it’s mostly just… helping him out around his office, driving him around.”

“So you got Tatsuya a job as a _secretary,”_ Lisa says, rolling her eyes.

“Lisa,” Tatsuya warns, “Maya’s doing a lot to help. Don’t get into an argument with her.”

“Girlfriends aren’t meant to sign you off to random CEOs, Tatsuya.” Lisa keeps her glare at Maya, who lifts her head in bold confusion. Tatsuya feels a nervous dread sink inside of him.

“Oh, she’s not my—”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Maya says, a grin suddenly breaking on her - incredulous, bewildered. Lisa’s frown tightens, but she’s marked with confusion.

“What? Then who the hell are you? A _friend?”_

“Yes? We met back in college.” Maya half folds her arms, still with the tea in one of her hands. The grin has morphed to some kind of expression that is trying to hold back laughter. “Boys and girls can be friends, you know-”

“I know that!” Lisa says - louder, more embarrassed. “I’m friends with guys too, you know! I just thought—you’re doing a lot, and girls who do that—”

“I’m a lesbian.”

“Sorry! I’m sorry! _Ugh,_ I’ll go! Sorry!”

Lisa slams her bedroom door a little harder than normal. Maya has brought a hand to her mouth, and laughs behind it.

“Okay—okay, I’m fine,” she laughs, grinning at Tatsuya. “Don’t worry. I’m used to that.”

Tatsuya nods, a little sheepish. “Sorry about that.”

“Really, it’s okay.” Maya takes a drink from her cup. “He wants to see you today, actually.”

“Alright,” Tatsuya says, cupping his coffee cup and standing up, with Maya following quickly. “Introduce him to me, then.”

* * *

The Nanjo Conglomerate building is the tallest building in the city, excluding the Rotterdam Tower. Today, it seems taller, and casts a darker shadow over the city.

“No fucking way,” Tatsuya mutters - but the wonder is soon replaced with terror.

“I know, it’s—really intimidating,” Maya says, a hand on Tatsuya’s shoulder. “But I swear. He’s interested in helping. You just… have to listen to him. Nod and smile. That’s all, I promise.”

Tatsuya tries to focus on the tallest floor - but he can’t even see it. He closes and opens his hands, and then heaves a breath he was holding in. “Are you coming with me?”

“Of course,” Maya reassures, leading the hand down his arm to his own hand, and starts to guide him in. Tatsuya’s lead feet keep him behind her, but he eventually does move, walking through the heavy revolving doors. The black marble floor inside has been polished this morning, and it reflects the shadows of Maya and Tatsuya.

“How did you manage to be friends with Kei fucking Nanjo?”

Maya shrugs. “Ask Eriko. I knew her first.”

“Christ. Fine. Where do we go.”

* * *

Tatsuya meets three separate secretaries—the front door, the top floor, and then one more outside of two large white doors with golden handles—before he knows where Kei Nanjo’s office is. Maya lets go of his arm at the final doors, and two suited men in sunglasses open them to guide Tatsuya inside. He can tell they’re armed without looking for the tells on their hips or pockets.

Instead of another long hallway with posters and office doors, it is a sprawling office with rich carpet, shelves both empty and stacked heavy with books, awards, and plaques—the walls are black like the marble, and the paintings are all Japanese in origin. The wealth doesn’t surprise him—what surprises him instead, is the door closing behind him being marked with a harsh, feminine voice.

“Don’t _fuck_ with me, Nanjo,” the woman snarls, her hand slapping the dark wood desk to lean herself in. Two guards, a man and a woman, step forward and hold brightly plated guns towards this woman, both at the side of the scion of Liberty City himself. Kei Nanjo is unfazed by the woman’s threat, and the woman herself is undeterred by the weapons in her face. “You keep this bullshit up any longer, and the West Coast will crash right on top of you.”

“I’m _terrified,_ Kirijo.” Kei’s eyes narrow, and he holds up a hand to steady his witnesses. “But your _brute force_ methods won’t work on this side of the country. If you want our influence of the Midwest to subside, then you best tighten your hold on those _flies_ you call subsidiaries. They operate far too independently from what your family boasts.”

This Kirijo woman leans in farther, and Tatsuya sees the two at Kei’s side tense—but she just glares another vicious eye into his own unwavering, fixed stare. Eventually, she leans back, hand still on the desk, but far more rigid in posture.

“I’ll take your advice into consideration,” eventually comes her reply. “I will expect you to uphold such a statement by my next visit.”

“And when will that be?”

Her frown doesn’t move. “You will just have to hear from me.”

She steps back and gathers a briefcase from down the side of an armchair, which stands before the desk. She stands and turns quickly, marching from the desk towards Tatsuya - she notices him, but doesn’t allow him anything else but a stern stare. It gives him the clue to step out of the way, and she reaches for the door.

“Give me a week’s notice,” Kei calls out, distracted. “I’ll have to buy enough ibuprofen to deal with the headache your screaming’s going to give me.”

Kirijo whips her head around and glares at him, a mane of brilliant red. Then, she opens the door and closes it—roughly.

Kei turns his head towards the door, and seems almost surprised to see Tatsuya. He looks between him, the door, and the guard to his left, and then remarks—

“Who the fuck let you in here?” He adjusts his glasses, and with a pause, shakes his head. “You know what? I don’t care. What do you want?”

Tatsuya’s bewilderment goes beyond any word he could use in the moment. “I’m—Tatsuya Suou. I was told to—”

“Oh. _Christ,_ the shit Kirijo puts me through, I forgot.” He beckons a hand to Tatsuya. “Over here. Sit down.”

Cautious, Tatsuya crosses the room, and takes a seat before Liberty City’s unofficial sovereign. The seat is more of an armchair, with a plush cushion below and behind him. If he weren’t sitting before Nanjo, maybe he’d sit back and get comfortable. But with Kei staring at him from across the desk, hands tented in front of his face, he feels hesitant to do so.

“Suou,” he says, looking towards the computer monitor to the right of his desk. One of his hands takes the mouse, and he clicks on something on the screen. “Amano’s friend… right. You’re the corrupt cop?”

Tatsuya tenses. “Allegedly.”

“Sure. I don’t care what you did. Didn’t do anything to me.” Kei rolls his eyes. “So you know I don’t give a shit about you. I imagine you don’t think much of me, either. Your job is to make me give a shit about you, so I don’t think you’re a waste of my time.” He opens a window on the computer, and glances over the words on the screen. “Did Amano tell you anything about what I want you to do?”

“Desk work?”

“Oh, bless her, no. I have interns to do that.” Kei opens up a drawer to his left, and pulls out a small folder. He opens it, but doesn’t push it towards Tatsuya—he seems focused on it, himself. Anyone else, anywhere else, he might look around the room. Not here. “I want you to work beside me. I have meetings, arrangements, appearances to meet. You’re coming with me. I want to see how you react under pressure.”

Tatsuya frowns, and shifts in his seat. “Am I allowed to ask questions?”

“Shoot.”

_“Why?”_

Kei glances up. “It gives me something to base you off of. I’m going to be giving you one of my personal lawyers, and I want to make you worth something.” He goes back to looking through the folder—a letter, atop something that looks like a police file. But it’s less detailed; like a biography designed like the report. Tatsuya’s not going to bother reading it from upside down. “I’d rather refer to you as ‘Tatsuya, the cop who did work for me’ than ‘Tatsuya, the cop who killed Ideo Hazama’. Do you get that?”

He keeps the frown, and his eyes waver to the flat top of the desk. “Don’t tell me that’s a common story.”

“No, but I have my connections.” Kei turns the page. “I knew Ideo. I knew Takahisa, too. I didn’t like either of them. You— _allegedly_ —shook up this city’s power, you know. Businesses opening up, names going to merge…”

There’s a smile on his face, but it’s anything but friendly. Amused, entertained—but not friendly, or compassionate, or inviting. It’s exciting to look at, and it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, anxious. “It’s kind of funny how you’ll never feel that impact.”

Tatsuya remains silent.

Kei closes the folder.

“I have a meeting tomorrow, at noon. You’ll come here an hour earlier, so I can adequately prepare you. It’s just a business contract—you’re just going to be passing money between the client and I.” Kei passes the folder up to the woman on his right, and she takes it to a briefcase on a chair some distance away. “It’s a witness thing, too. It’s not going to be hard, but you can do that, right?”

Tatsuya nods. Kei cracks his knuckles, then shakes his hand out.

“Good. You’re not useless.” Kei looks at his watch. “Do you have any questions? I won’t have long.”

Following the woman’s return to Kei’s side with his eyes, Tatsuya slowly shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“Look at you.” Kei’s smirk is as uninviting as it was a moment ago. “Alright. Go. See you tomorrow, Suou.”

Quietly, Tatsuya gets to his feet, giving Kei a short bow with his upper body. It feels—like the right thing to do. Like Kei will stare a hole into his back and cut him open through it if he didn’t. His feet feel heavy, but he doesn’t drag them along the floor to the door. He opens it and closes it close behind him, lifting his head to look for Maya—who is across the hall, phone in her hands.

It makes Tatsuya to check his own. He reaches into his pocket and quietly lifts it, and is moderately surprised to see a notification. Familiar dread returns when he sees Reiji’s name. _I’m out of the hospital. Pls call me. Says youre busy_

He ends up bumping into Maya’s knees when he doesn’t look where he’s walking. Maya lifts her head, and she smiles while leaping from her seat. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Tatsuya says. “Can you come back with me to Lisa’s? I might need your help.”

“Anything you need, I’ll help,” she says, with a bright grin.

* * *

“Alright,” Tatsuya sighs, “You’re on speaker, Kido.”

 _“Yes, Tatsuya, I’m feeling great, thank you for asking.”_ Reiji’s eye roll is audible with his dry voice. _“Who else am I talking to?”_

“My name’s Maya,” she says, holding another cup of tea.

_“Who the hell is that?”_

“She’s helping us out, Kido.” Tatsuya rolls his own eyes. “What did you need me for? I was in an interview.”

Not the biggest lie he’s told recently. He can hear Reiji moving into a seat—slowly. _“I kept going through Kandori’s emails to find ‘King Leo’ shit. I don’t think it has anything to do with begging for money.”_

“Where’d you get that from?”

_“The way they talked to each other. Kandori must’ve been his friend, because every goddamn email mentions ‘next meetings’ and ‘tonight’s dinner’. Incriminating shit must’ve been talked about in person, but they were getting along. Mooching off your friend’s going to make your conversations a bit more tense than what I’m reading. The topic was money, but...”_

“Alright.” Tatsuya looks at Maya, briefly—the concern on her face remains, but a deep interest hits her, and she watches his phone with an earnest determination. “So, with that—do you know who ‘King Leo’ is yet?”

 _“Fuck if I know. Inaba here has been looking into it, but all we’re getting is donations to charities and shit that he’s made. Nobody’s seen him.”_ He can hear a scratching sound, close to the phone. _“Fake name, alright. But it doesn’t tell us much.”_

“You sure it’s worth investigating?” Tatsuya asks.

 _“Of course it is. Who knows what kind of person Kandori was behind the scenes. If anything, I’be got the right to wonder.”_ Reiji takes a breath, against a cigarette. _“Can you look into some of it for me? Go digging through police records for anything relevant?”_

Tatsuya suddenly feels another sink of dread. Maya notices it—a hand is immediately on his arm, but he gently takes her hand off him before sighing. “I can’t. I… was fired.”

A moment of silence. _“Holy shit...Are you serious? Christ—was it—”_

“Yes. It was.”

 _“I... don’t know how I can make it up to you. It… was kind of my fault.”_ Another drag of the cigarette. _“Look, if—you need anything, like… money—”_

“It’s fine. I have a place and some money saved.” Tatsuya leans into the couch, sighing again. “Awfully responsible of you to help, Reiji.”

 _“You saved my life. Least I could do is help out—after I pay my hospital bills.”_ Reiji sighs, himself. He moves how he holds the phone. _“I’ll keep looking on my end. If you can help, then thanks. Toudou and I can keep you updated.”_

“Good luck,” Tatsuya remarks, and keeps the phone up until Reiji hangs up. Maya sits a little closer to him, eyes marked by mourning—Tatsuya puts his phone away and leans against the arm rest of the couch, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Well,” Maya says, breaking the spell of silence, “He wants you to try your best, if you can help him out. You don’t have to.”

“I’m already involved in his mess. I might as well.”

Maya looks down at her tea, frowning quietly. She settles back against the couch, and Tatsuya looks away, unable to watch her take to silence. He looks at his phone for some time, at his reflection in the black glass.

“Do _you_ know anything?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never written anything—if you could ask your... friend... about locations-“

“You better not be talking about me,” Lisa says, and Tatsuya turns around to the eavesdropper in question with a glare.

“Lisa, I _swear,_ if you listen in on me again-“

“You’ll _what?_ You’re in _my_ apartment.” Her arms folded once more, she leans against the corner of the wall that leads down into the two hidden rooms. “Why is she even here still?”

“Lisa... Silverman?” Maya suddenly interrupts, standing up, fixing her skirt, and pulling up her phone. She leaves the tea on the glass coffee table. “Sorry for being formal, I just think we should properly get to know each other.”

Maya reaches out with her brightest smile. Tatsuya follows Lisa with his eyes, and she raises an eyebrow and cautiously takes Maya’s hand, and is firmly shaken.

“Maya Amano. I write for United Liberty Paper.”

“Uh-huh.” Lisa’s incredulous look remains, as she looks at Maya closer—bright eyes, bright smile, brushed back hair and a professional grip on her hand. If Tatsuya wasn’t weighed down by the burden of the day, he might laugh. Maybe even smile.

“I’m helping Tatsuya with his legal trouble, but also writing about some curious behind-the-scenes truth about the Socialite Murders.”

Maya can lie? The murders have a _name?_

“We were talking about an interesting name we can’t source—King Leo. Is there anyone you can think of who might use that name, or anyone who could point us towards him?” The charisma radiates from Maya like warmth from a fire. She keeps Lisa’s hand in hers, and smiles so bright her eyes close. Lisa seems lost in the story it tells. Maybe she just likes the idea of being interviewed.

“Well—um—I don’t know anyone,” she says—almost nervously. “I never met any of the men who—uh—died. But some of my friends”

Maya leans forward and holds her phone out, microphone up. She’s not recording, but Lisa’s glance down is only a flicker.

“Some—some of my friends go to a club downtown. They perform there and talk about a ‘king’, but I thought that was just a performer.”

“That’s fantastic news! What is the name of the club?” Maya shakes Lisa’s hand again, and Lisa stares at their hands, confounded, before answering.

“Maisonette 9.”

“Lisa, you cannot _imagine_ how much hep you’ve been to me, _and_ Tatsuya.” Maya released Lisa’s hand—at Tatsuya’s name, Lisa glances at him, like she even forgot he was there. When Maya pockets her phone, Lisa’s eyes are back on her. “We’ll be going soon—we’re going to have to get ourselves over to that club and ask around. We’ll be sure to get out of your hair.”

“I wasn’t—you weren’t in my hair, I was just—“

“Come on, Tatsuya. Let’s leave Lisa alone.” Picking her tea and Tatsuya up in the same pivot, Maya waves a goodbye and winks to Lisa as she leads her companion out. Lisa’s hand slowly raises to a confused wave only as the door closes.

Tatsuya looks at Maya and finally speaks. “What the hell was that?”

“Girls like her like cameras. I don’t mean that like an insult—I can just tell.” Maya takes a sip of her tea. “You can’t be afraid to ask the people around you for clues. Anyone could know what you need.”

“... Yeah. Right.” Tatsuya shrugs, but it seems Maya doesn’t notice his distant bewilderment.

“Still—it’s interesting our suspect would be at a dance club.” Maya stops them at the elevator. “Maybe he’s the socializing type. He’s probably a charismatic person if he’s interesting people at clubs.”

“I always considered Maisonette 9 to be a ‘young adult’ place,” Tatsuya says. “The guy who owns it is our age. Kandori certainly wouldn’t have been there.”

Maya taps her chin. “Maybe there’s more people on King Leo’s side.”

The elevator door opens.

“I suppose we’ll see when we get there,” she says, and walks into the elevator.


	22. nanjo supremacy

An afternoon visit to a club decorated in neon flushed light isn’t the way he’d like to spend time. Even with patrons lingering around the door and passing through, it feels like an occasion you should be saving for a late night, when the sun is down and the city is lit by buildings and street lamps. The sidewalk leading to the club itself is dirty, but the exterior of the building is scrubbed pristine.

Entry is cheaper than Tatsuya anticipated. With her arm around his, Maya keeps close and guides Tatsuya through the hall of patrons, dimly lit by purple fluorescence and black lights. The music throbs in his ears, an electronic dance mix that blasts through each large speaker, fixed on walls and furniture. He notices the building itself seems rather small, but that’s no account for how many people are in attendance, pressed together and moving like a swarm of eels.

The do-right officer in him wants to note safety hazards. But he reminds himself why he’s present and what he is doing. Maybe he’ll leave the moral compass in Maya’s hands.

Maya brings them to the bar, where they hover a ways away from the stools to allow proper guests access. She squints through the mass of dark figures, dimmed by the dark lights and colours. She leans close to Tatsuya. “Any chance you recognize anyone?”

Tatsuya shakes his head. He can barely hear her - he looks up at the speaker above them, and notes a balcony a little higher than that. “Up there,” he says, loud and drowned out, “a lounge.”

Maya lifts her head, but Tatsuya already pulls her along towards a staircase close to the bar. The steps are clogged with patrons, and it takes them time to navigate through the mass gathered - a girl in a short white dress, two men grinning at the crowd and muttering to one another, an older woman with her phone against her ear at the top of the stairs. He sees their expressions, but they are all faceless; nobody’s identity matters in the darkness of a Liberty City club, even when you press past them.

The lounge is an open one - though the present guests all gather together as one party. The lights are plain white, and it’s a relief to see colours different than black and blue. Whatever music that plays continues to be loud, but they’re behind the speakers now, muted and clear. Tatsuya looks at the circle of couches lowered into the floor. A blonde man with purple rimmed glasses is chatting jovially to his enthralled company, champagne glass in his hand. If he notices Tatsuya, he doesn’t indicate it behind the tinted glass.

No one else turns their head -

“What are _you_ doing here, Tatsu-baby?!”

Maybe he should have expected that. But what are the odds?

Eikichi seems to come up out of nowhere, but when he steps to the closest light Tatsuya wonders how he couldn’t see the glam rock uniform Eikichi is unfortunately dressed in. His narrow form is barely covered by a tight black vest with accompanying leather pants, and the blue hair is bright and freshly dyed. He reaches for a hug that Tatsuya doesn’t want to give him, but Eikichi takes it anyway, nudging Maya off.

“Absolutely, positively, did _not_ think Maisonette was your kind of scene!”

“It isn't,” Tatsuya replies flatly, gently prying Eikichi’s arms off him. “I’m… looking for someone. Are there performers here tonight besides you?”

“I’m not performing— this is a DJ kind of club, Tatsu-baby.” Eikichi looks at Maya, curiously. “Who is this?”

“My name is Maya,” she replies, wide grinned and playful. He’ll have to ask where the patience for someone like Eikichi comes from later. “I’m a friend of his, and we’re working together.”

“Well—if there’s _anything_ Michel can help you with, just give him a call, alright, darling?” Eikichi flips some hair back and winks, and Maya’s grin remains— _polite_. Eikichi leads his gaze back over his shoulder, looking at the gathered patrons among the plush couches. “I’m meant to be talking to one of the _fine_ businesswomen over there… but if you need Michel’s guidance, ask away.”

Tatsuya closes his eyes so he doesn’t glare at him. “Is there a King Leo among your… _entourage?”_

Eikichi turns himself to look at the group completely, and frowns. He leans to the right with a hand on his hip, and presses his lips together into a fine line. “Can’t say that there’s anyone like that here. Why don’t you come talk to them?”

“I think I’ll wait for the conversation to-”

“Hey! _Bebe!_ Some of Michel’s friends wanna chat!”

The purple-glassed man lifts his head, attention drawn from a young woman with strawberry red hair. He lifts the glasses up, and peers at the two guests with bright blue eyes lined with black eyeliner. He beckons them over, and when Maya and Tatsuya shuffle a little closer to the lounge area, he speaks with a heavy French accent, thick between his words. “You are friends of Michel, yes?”

“For the most part, yes,” Tatsuya replies.

He taps the seat cushion next to him. “Find a seat, take a seat! Easier to talk among one another, yes? Welcome to Maisonette, is this your first visit?”

Cautiously, Tatsuya steps down into the lounge area, with Maya close behind. They take a seat next to one another, crowded by an older man and a younger girl, dressed in a brightly coloured dress that leaves little to the imagination. Eikichi takes a seat next to one of the men that Tatsuya recognizes from his band, stretching his arms behind the couch and crossing a leg over the other. Tatsuya slowly moves his gaze from Eikichi to the rest of the people among Bebe’s lounge, talking among themselves with drinks in hand. Men and women of an echelon he’s unfamiliar with, only occasionally passing curious glances his way.

Eventually, he nods. “Yes. We’re… just looking for someone, however.”

“Is there _anything_ I can help you two with?” Bebe asks with a grin, leaning forward with elbows on his knees.

“You wouldn’t happen to know of someone named ‘King Leo’, would you?” Maya asks.

Bebe brings his drink to his mouth, but the corners of his cheeks lower - Tatsuya finds himself a little relieved that it just changes to a pensive expression, and Bebe looks towards the stairs, keeping the glasses up. Tatsuya tries to look at who he could be watching for - the woman with the phone looks towards the group, and when she meets Tatsuya’s eyes, returns to her conversation and turns away. Bebe lowers the sunglasses, and sits back into his seat.

“He is not here tonight. He only visits once a month—he is a _very_ busy man.” Bebe takes another sip of his drink, ice coloured light pink clinking together in the glass. “Very few people seek him out at all, especially so - brazenly. What do you need to ask of him?”

Maya glances at Tatsuya, a touch nervous. Tatsuya warily watches Bebe some more. “Well—it’s kind of personal, and—”

“I am not making you _nervous,_ am I?” Bebe reaches behind him to place the drink on a table, low to the level of the couch. He rests his arms behind the two people to his side, relaxing back into the couch. “I do not mean to. Please forgive me—it is an unexpected question to be given. I am afraid I cannot tell you much.”

Only a few people watch the conversation between Liberty City’s club king and the curious guests a few seats away - most remain in their own conversations, private and personal, or discussions without any substance. Eikichi’s voice remains a constant sound in the background, arm over his bandmate and trying his hardest to charm the woman to his left. Tatsuya’s eyes linger on him for just a moment, before returning to Bebe. Bebe mutters something to the girl at his side, who shrugs her shoulders.

“Can you tell us what he’s like?” Maya asks. “What about his real name?”

Bebe shakes his head. Maya frowns.

“He is a very powerful man in the city, but that is all. I promise I am not intentionally obstructing your investigation for my own interests,” Bebe said, reaching for the glass once more. He holds it to his mouth, lingering to speak before drinking it. The smile he gives over it is genuine, if unhelpful. “It is - beyond my permission to tell you anything.”

Tatsuya looks to Maya, frustration taking over his expression. Maya is the first to stand, and Tatsuya follows quickly after. “Well - thank you for telling us. We’ll have to look elsewhere.”

Maya takes Tatsuya’s hand and guides him to the steps leading out of the lounge - he looks to Eikichi, who waves a goodbye before quickly returning to whatever conversation he’s been having. Passing by faceless patrons, Maya and Tatsuya walk to the stairs and down, as the conversations between the lounge occupants grows in volume once more, laughter spilling out after Tatsuya as the lighting grows dark once more, and neon is all that illuminates their path out.

The fresh air hits him like ice in the summer.

“That was disappointing,” Maya says. A cigarette is in Tatsuya’s hands faster than she can react, but when she does, she frowns. “When did you start smoking?”

“A couple of years ago,” Tatsuya says, hand in his pocket to look for his lighter. “… Well. We _have_ learnt he’s using a different name.”

Maya sighs, folding her arms. “That  _really_ isn’t much help. If he’s not a performer, then he could be anyone. I don’t think we’re going to find out much just by asking around, if our answers are going to be like the one in there.”

“That doesn’t sound like reporter’s integrity,” Tatsuya comments with a plume of smoke, minding to blow it away from Maya.

“I know a dead end when I see it, Tatsuya. It’s better to look somewhere else when you hit a brick wall.” Maya keeps to one side of him as they walk down the sidewalk, keeping herself as far from downwind as she can. “You should wait for your friend to find out more. Maybe he’ll find something with an address you could visit.”

Tatsuya holds the cigarette in his hand, looking at Maya with a curious silence. “… You don’t have to risk yourself like this to help me, Maya.”

“What am I risking? We’re not in any kind of danger.” Maya looks at him and soon smiles. “If that happens… I don’t know. We’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it, won’t we? You could do with a sleuth like me helping you find out where to properly start.” Maya looks up at the sky, at the sun dipping behind the buildings - not close to sundown, but the last hours of the afternoon begin to come over them. “Especially if you’re going to be busy with Kei’s work.”

“I almost forgot.” The cigarette returns to his mouth, and he looks down at the sidewalk.

“He’s a reasonable person, Tatsuya. It’s just… errands.”

“You said ‘desk work’ last time.”

“At least you’re not breaking into apartments for him.”

Tatsuya sighs, deeply. “I suppose you’re right.”

* * *

 

After one seven dollar ticket for parking, Tatsuya walks through the ornate lobby of the Nanjo Conglomerate building to the large elevators, moving with a collection of employees and clients arriving at the same time. The elevator takes six different stops in total between the first floor and the twenty-first, and Tatsuya is the only one remaining when he exits and arrives at the top.

The doors to Kei’s office opens for him after the bodyguards coldly look him over and reach for the handles. In the centre of the room, Kei stands with an elderly man doting over the sleeves of his jacket, a suit that is possibly more expensive than Tatsuya’s (former) annual salary. His arm extended, with his other looking at a watch on his wrist, he lifts his head when the doors open.

“Good. You’re on time.” He stretches out his arm to cover the watch with his other sleeve. “I see you’re at least dressed.”

Tatsuya looks down at his clothing - the closest thing he could put together of a formal uniform without a suit to his name. He tries to not think about what it’d be like to ask Katsuya for a jacket; then again, the difference in size would go noticed under Kei Nanjo’s scrutiny. “I blend in, don’t I?”

“Blend in? I suppose. Weird way of putting it.” Kei lowers his arm once the older man pats his shoulder. He adjusts the jacket to his preference, and mutters what sounds like a _‘thank you’_ \- such basic kindness should almost be beyond the scion, if the time he’s been in his presence is meant to be believed. “How’d you get here?”

“Motorcycle,” Tatsuya says, and Kei’s expression is - surprised?

“You ride one as well? Interesting.” It’s like a gift to hear Kei Nanjo speak in anything but a scathing drawl, even if for a moment. Instead of humouring the camaraderie that sparks between both men, Kei turns to his desk and walks over, picking up the steel briefcase resting atop it. “We’ll be driving to the Rotterdam Tower—I’ve booked the meeting to take place on one of the open office floors today.”

“The _entire_ floor?” Tatsuya asks. Kei looks at him, incredulous.

“Of course. Why would I want anyone getting in the way?” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Tatsuya rolls his eyes when Kei turns away. The elderly gentleman chuckles to himself behind a curled hand, pressed against his mouth. “It won’t take long, but it’s not the only thing we’re doing today. Carry this.”

The briefcase is heavy. Tatsuya holds it at his side, arm stiff, as Kei walks past him and leads the two men out of the office. The guards at the door nod their heads towards him and follow behind Tatsuya and the gentleman—who he could only presume is a butler—in a silent stead. The secretary by the door wishes Kei a good day with “Enjoy your meeting, mister Nanjo.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look at her. Kei’s march is rigid, his steps keeping his posture firm and perfect. Tatsuya doesn’t figure himself a slow walker, but the briefcase brings him to the pace of the butler.

“Do you wish for me to carry that for you, mister Suou?” The older voice is a lot more polite than the younger one of Kei. Tatsuya shakes his head, nonetheless.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” he insists.

“If Master Nanjo has a problem with his assistants _helping_ one another, I am certain I can speak sense to him.”

Tatsuya’s eye catches one of the bodyguards behind him. Cautious, he hands the briefcase to the gentleman, to avoid falling behind and his heels stomped on by the march of the two women behind them. “Thank you. You are…?”

“Yamaoka Nanjo. I have been in service to Master Nanjo for twenty-eight years.” The butler—Yamaoka—speaks with a deep pride and familiar fondness, though hushed, as they draw closer to Kei. Tatsuya notices their pace picks up, even with the heavy steel in the elderly man’s hold. “I assure you that he does not _intentionally_ speak in the manner he does; it is simply his practical demeanour.”

Tatsuya could say something.

“I see. Thank you.”

But he doesn’t. It’s smarter to not to.

Kei presses the button on an elevator, different than the one Tatsuya arrived at the floor in. Tatsuya notes the different hallway, and the smaller elevator. He looks at Kei, curious. “Is this a personal elevator?”

Kei glances over his shoulder for a moment, then looks back at his phone. “Yes. What about it?”

Tatsuya looks at Yamaoka, who smiles a placated, quiet smile at nothing in particular. His moment of disbelief goes unnoticed.

* * *

 

He’s never been inside the Rotterdam Tower. Then again, he also had never been inside the Nanjo Tower, and he had also never rode inside a limousine with a bar and back seat radio - so things can change.

The meeting was arranged to be on the third floor, and the short elevator ride is a relief when Yamaoka hands him the steel case once more when they step out of the limousine. The floor is quiet, and only then does he remember Kei’s booking methods. Rather than lose himself in the absolute silence of the hall, he follows Kei, who has kept his eyes on his phone’s inbox ever since arriving.

The office space is more of an open board room, with wide windows and a glass wall between the room and the hallway. A large table sits between Kei, Tatsuya, and a familiar woman with her entourage.

“Good afternoon, mister Nanjo,” Chizuru Ishigami says, standing from her seat and bowing at the hip. Kei returns the gesture, but it seems he dislikes the action. Tatsuya doesn’t move.

“Afternoon.” He looks at Tatsuya, and frowns when he has to take a moment to place the case on the table. When Kei seats himself, Tatsuya elects to instead stand next to one of the guards women who entered with them - her accomplice stands at the door, outside. “Thank you for arriving on time.”

“The same to you,” she remarks, seated and pulling out a laptop - brand new, from the looks of it. “I appreciate your choice of location. I love the observatory here.”

“Indeed,” Kei says, with the distance of someone who hears the words but doesn’t care for them. He takes a pen out and twirls it in his hand as Yamaoka brings out a tablet for Kei. Tatsuya feels deep dread staring at Chizuru type on her side of the room, even as she moves her eyes only between the screen and Kei.

Does Kei know? He should know. Is this a test? Is it coincidence? There’s no proof that says he does know, but Tatsuya doesn’t truly know how far the Nanjo eye can see. He looks at Kei open a screen on the tablet, tapping the ink point of the pen against a notebook and leaving black dots behind.

“Immediately, I want to discuss the appended audit for the project you inherited from your fiancé’s name.”

Chizuru sighs gently. “Of course.”

Tatsuya watches it - the screens, the way their hands move, the glance that Kei passes between his notes and a document given to him by a young girl from Chizuru’s side of the table. It is a silent exchange after he blocks the sound out, caught by the ringing in his ears, motions between the wealthy that he thought he couldn’t walk among. He still doesn’t. It’s errands. It’s a test.

Even if it were another person—and it could be _anyone_ —he still wouldn’t be interested. But it’s—the obvious problem, the obvious woman, and it makes Tatsuya feel the weight in his chest grow to terrific sizes and threaten to bring him to his knees. He doesn’t see, nor can he tell, if anyone looks his way to see the despair and dread taking over his body. But then—Kei has turned around in his seat, and points the pen at Tatsuya.

“Give her the case,” he says. Tatsuya looks up at Chizuru, who watches him from over her screen. Tatsuya takes the heavy case and brings it to the other side of the room, and presents it to Chizuru. She looks at the steel edges, and Tatsuya feels warm up his neck—

“Can you open it?” she asks, looking up at him. Her eyes remain on his face—hurriedly, Tatsuya pulls open the steel clasps, and the case lid opens to reveal bundles of cash. His eyes light up with shock rather than dread as he lays it against the table, and Chizuru counts the initial amount of the top layer with a quiet satisfaction.

He wasn’t aware he was carrying money at all, let alone so much. Unsure, he slowly steps away, and Chizuru doesn’t lift her head from counting. Not listening has a price to begin with, but when he’s in this room, he can feel the consequences a lot more heavily.

“Personally, I would prefer to just send to a bank deposit.” Kei leans on his hand, and doesn’t look away from her. “But, I understand the difficulty in maintaining ownership of the building without your fiancé present.”

Chizuru nods, and closes the case. “Is this the full amount?”

“Yes, it is.”

She moves in her chair to her right, where a man with thick rimmed glasses types an amount on a large tablet as she oversees his typing. Kei glances at Tatsuya for a moment, and he smirks, almost covered by his curled hand.

Tatsuya stands beside Yamaoka, sick and infuriated.

“Thank you very much, mister Nanjo.” Chizuru returns to her computer, eyeing Tatsuya for a moment before looking at Kei once more. “You’re still very young, but you’re as professional as your father.”

Kei’s smirk returns, this time as a glowing ego. “Now, I want to go over the zoning agreement. I have a stake in Tachibana, and we could easily arrange for renovations…”</> Tatsuya doesn’t remember who that is, what they do. Maybe he’s never met them, or heard of them. The conversation stretches far beyond him once more, light years away as he roots himself in his own thoughts. Like he’s dreaming of the dark of night again, moving silently through a house that isn’t his own.

Watching Chizuru makes him uneasy, because it makes him think of the dark house leading to a staircase, and behind that staircase is a balcony, and on that balcony is Ideo Hazama watching the skyline get shattered like glass and turn a bright red. Tatsuya wonders if it lasted for very long, as well as if Naoya watched the whole thing, or if he looked away.

Maybe he did. Masao hasn’t changed, after all. Not like he could have seen when he panicked like that.

The ghost comes back, of a man he never knew. The fear of what it’d have been like to kill the woman across the room follows that ghost, like a veil of a promise he didn’t think he could keep. Killing would have been easy, but he wonders how a child could have changed it. Is that what changes if the guns are drawn?

Kei says something. Tatsuya moves without question, fetching the bag from another seat and giving Kei another notebook. Unaware, uninvolved. The money has been exchanged, and he waits as the hour continues.

Maybe it’s been two. The bloody thoughts could be longer, and his body feels like it’s been a while, aching feet and sore ankles. Kei lowers his pen on the notebook.

“Then that should be all,” he says, as Yamaoka and the suited woman gather the bags brought in. Kei crosses the room and meets Chizuru halfway before the open window, and he takes the hand she offers for a firm shake. “Thank you, Ishigami.”

“Thank you, mister Nanjo.” Her smile is a little more genuine than the transparent one Kei gives, one that stares through her head and at the ceiling behind her. She returns to her side of the room, with her assistant gathering up the laptop carefully, as Kei gestures Tatsuya to follow as he leaves the room.

Tatsuya doesn’t look back in hopes that she doesn’t look at him.

In the elevator, he looks at Nanjo, cold. Kei looks over, nonchalant.

“You did well,” he says, absent and ingenuine.

“You should have told me,” Tatsuya mutters, voice low and dark.

“Did you forget? I was testing you.” Kei watches his distorted reflection in the steel elevator doors as they open. “You’d have had your tantrum the night before if I told you. I wanted to see it in the moment.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“Because I brought you before the woman whose fiancé you murdered?” Kei glances at Tatsuya when the elevator doors open. They walk out side by side, surrounded by the guarding entourage. “Forgive me. I forgot that was _bastardly_ behaviour. Maybe we can go see Kandori’s brother next time, wherever the hell he is. I’m sure he’d have _lots_ of things to say to you.”

Tatsuya figures it's in his best interest to keep his mouth shut.

“It’s over. Done. You don’t have to talk to her ever again.” Kei waits for the door to be held open. “Though, I suppose I should ask you something.”

“What?”

“Did you notice her laptop? _Very_ new. Do you know why she got that?”

Tatsuya says nothing. When he turns his head over his shoulder to look at Kei, Kei is grinning widely.

“You’re a terrible person, Tatsuya Suou,” he says, with wicked, poisonous glee.


	23. event horizon

The weather is starting to get colder. That doesn’t stop Masao from picking out a restaurant with a balcony dining area, though.

Far below, the city looks smaller; the farther away you are from the motion of cars and people marching to work, the more insignificant it becomes, especially in the heart of downtown Liberty City. It’s a better background than something to live in. Tatsuya watches an intersection of Star Junction slowly become clogged with yellow taxis and Dryft carpools when the light turns red at an inopportune time as Masao’s voice breaks through his focus.

“No way you were actually at Maisonette,” he says, leaning back in his seat with a colourful drink from the alcohol menu. “There’s a guest list.”

“What world are you livin’ in where Maisonette’s got a guest list?!” Eikichi asks, swinging forward from his own leaning to stare at Masao. “Maybe that’s what you got told to keep you outta the building, but when you’re stylish like me—”

 _“Stylish?_ You dress like an extra in a bondage dungeon porn.”

“If you fight, you walk home,” Naoya says, reading something on his phone, not lifting his head.

“It’s hardly _fighting,_ Nao-rin,” Eikichi says, taking his glass, lifting it up, and mirroring Masao’s lean. “Just some banter between the lads.”

“I’m not your _‘lad’,”_ Masao says into his glass, and drinks the colourful contents inside.

Tatsuya’s eyes slowly wander back to the table, to the empty plate of the appetizer Masao and Eikichi cleared between them. The sun tries to peer through the tall buildings of the junction, but gets caught on the towers far greater than the balcony they are seated on, and only some light passes through to illuminate the patio. He catches Naoya’s eye when he does the same—and he’s not sure why either of them linger, but they do. It feels like another lifetime has passed between them, from the night at the Velvet Room, to—now.

Tatsuya rests his head on a closed hand. Naoya glances down at Tatsuya’s other hand, then back up at his eyes.

“So, okay, you were at Maisonette.” Masao fixes his beanie, the bright yellow clashing horribly with the demure dining scene. “What did you do there? Get high in a bathroom?”

“No, no, that came later,” Eikichi says, with a playful wink. “Your baby boy got into _Bebe’s Lounge_ and chatted up one of the lovely record ladies up there.”

“Okay, now I know you’re lying.”

“Lying about what?! When you see my face on the screen over there—” Eikichi gestures across the street, where several screens make up one large image, depicting Rise Kujikawa posing with a gold plated tube of lipstick, winking at the passing pedestrians storeys below her. “—you’ll _wish_ you were cool enough to get into the lounge, let alone the _building.”_

Masao rolls his eyes. “Come on. You want me to believe you got into someone’s secret lounge just to talk to record producers? That only happens to real talent, Eikichi.”

“You wound me so much, Mister Gunrunner,” Eikichi says, with a wave of his hand. “Maybe if you beef yourself up a bit more, get some muscle on those noodly-arms, I’ll let you be my bodyguard. You can hold the doors open for me.”

“What record?” Naoya asks, reaching for his glass of ice water. “Do you start work soon?”

“As soon as I get the boys up to speed—it’s called _Ambrosia_. The right kind of gentle touch Gas Chamber needs to rip everyone to shreds.”

“Never heard of it,” Tatsuya says, only breaking his gaze from Naoya once he looks back at him. “What was her name?”

“Just said to call her Queen… _something._ Shit, I forget.” Eikichi shrugs, returning to his regular seating when two plates are brought to the table. He grins and winks at the waiter to bring his brilliantly coloured plate of pasta, and he starts to draw shapes in the air as he recalls the previous night. “Capricorn? Aquarius? It was one of those zodiac signs. I can barely remember my own…”

Tatsuya’s eyes return to Naoya, lifting his head in curious revelation—Naoya glances towards Tatsuya slowly, but soon moves his gaze back to Eikichi, cautious.

“What else did she tell you?” Naoya asks. Eikichi ignores the glances the men share, and starts to bring small bowtie noodles to his mouth.

“We’ll get _real_ interviews later,” he says, bright smiled with teeth stained with red sauce. Tatsuya grimaces, but Eikichi at least closes his mouth soon enough. “You don't sound excited for me at all. I’m heartbroken.”

“I can’t say I know all of the details of how music labels work… but I’m happy for you,” Naoya responds, in the same tone as before—Eikichi is none the wiser.

“At least _someone_ can appreciate the work I’ve put in for this,” he says—and then cackles, jabbing one of the bowties with his fork once more.

Tatsuya slowly moves his gaze down to the plate presented to him, but finds himself thinking little on his hunger - he drums his fingers over his fork, head resting against his hand as he stares past the table and over the balcony ledge. Under the table, someone’s foot taps him, and he looks at Naoya.

Naoya’s expression says they’ll have to talk. Of course they will. Eikichi radiates ignorance to his left, and Masao either didn’t hear, or didn’t understand—he’s hoping for the former. Explaining it is going to kill him. Quietly, he lifts the soup spoon and dip it into the broth.

* * *

 

“Let me see it.”

“What the fuck? No.”

“Let me see your scar! Are there stitches? Is it huge?”

Reiji slaps Masao’s hands away from the back of his shirt, turning away and glaring viciously at him.

“If you touch me, I’ll cut your hands off,” he snarls, and Masao backs up, hands up, though rolls his eyes.

“Jeez. Good to have you back, boss.”

Naoya cuts between the two men to enter the room - Tatsuya follows behind him, though lingers in the doorway for the two to step out of his way. Naoya’s apartment is scarcely different than his last visit before you enter the living room, where cluttered boxes have begun to take their spot near the armchair Reiji has unofficially declared his seat when present. The tape over their folds and lids is haphazardly kept on, and looks to be reapplied every time they have been opened. Tatsuya steps between the coffee table and the length of the couch, sitting down next to Naoya.

“So—what was it? A friend of yours talked to King Leo?”

“An associate of his,” Tatsuya clarifies, resting his arms on his knees, watching Reiji sit down. “I saw him at Maisonette 9 last night. He was talking to a woman in the lounge upstairs.”

Reiji glances up in thought, imagining the club’s layout. “… Alright. And the woman he spoke to was the associate?”

“I presume so.”

“You _presume so,_ because…?”

“She’s ‘Queen Aquarius’,” Tatsuya says. “I don’t think ‘Leo’ is his actual name, or anything close to it.”

“We don’t know if it _is_ Aquarius,” Naoya confesses, “But… there’s some kind of zodiac reference. I’m guessing it could be an organization.”

Reiji leans back in the couch, box open in his lap. He hums briefly, tapping his fingers on both arm rests. “Interesting. No other names? Did you recognize the woman?”

Tatsuya shakes his head. “The club owner didn’t want to say anything. He knows something, but I don’t think we can get that out of him any time soon.”

“I’ve heard he’s a very private person when it comes to his personal life. Must be important.” Reiji sits up. “And you’re not going to be able to dig much out of him… I’ll ask Kenta for help with that kind of lead.”

The reminder is like a cold hand on his neck. Surprisingly, Tatsuya doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t mean it an insult—it is the truth, as bitter as it sits inside his mouth. Reiji stares at the blank television screen. He narrows his eyes in thought, then looks at Tatsuya.

“You think you could ask your new boss about it?”

“You want me to ask _Nanjo_ about some conspiracy theory we’re coming up with?” Tatsuya sighs, and shakes his head.

“SEBEC occasionally does work for the Nanjo Conglomerate. It means Kandori was on the same level as Nanjo.” Reiji folds his arms, frowning at Tatsuya. “If Kandori was taking orders and working with this king, then maybe Nanjo’s heard of him—or is doing work with him.”

Naoya and Masao glance at Tatsuya—the interest on both of their faces is enough to irritate him, but he knows he’s outnumbered. What does he have to lose? Dignity means nothing, after all.

“Fine,” Tatsuya sighs again, “if he says nothing, I won’t be able to press him for more.”

“That’s fine. At least it’s something.” Reiji leans over to one of the boxes level with his seat, peeling the half-taped lid open to look inside. Several printed documents face up towards him, but he doesn’t seem surprised. “When are you seeing him next?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Well, Suou, you know what you’ll have to do.”

Reiji smiles, and it’s earnest—earnest enough. It’s still Reiji Kido, and despite everything, he’s still Tatsuya. He nods, affirming.

* * *

 

Today, it rains. Yamaoka greets Tatsuya at the door to Kei’s office with a towel, embroidered with the initials _N K_ in red thread. Tatsuya looks at it with only a touch of bewilderment, but nods to the butler in appreciation.

Instead of Kei Nanjo staring at him with a glare whet on diamond, a woman looks over her shoulder, reaching up at one of the bookcases. She looks as tall as him, and just his age. Her bright eyes illuminate mischievously.

“Who are you? Are you Kei’s assistant?”

Tatsuya rubs the towel against his head, shaking loose the water. “—You could say that. Who are you?”

“My name is Eriko.” She pulls down two heavy books, holding them to her chest as she crosses the room to meet Tatsuya. Even with the towel on his head, she reaches a hand out to shake his. “Eriko Kirishima. I hope Kei hasn’t been giving you too much trouble while you get used to his work.”

“I’ve been surviving.” He takes her hand, and is then caught off guard from her firm shake, leaving his arm limp. Her smile remains brilliant, brighter than the dark skies of Liberty City’s afternoon. “Where is he—?”

“I wish you’d just _wait_ to be let in,” Kei says from behind him, passing through the open door and letting it close behind him. “Did you let him in, Eriko?”

“If he’s your assistant, he should be allowed in your office.” Eriko rolls her eyes, the good nature unwavering on his expression, even as Kei frowns at her. He marches to his desk and takes a seat, as Eriko taps Tatsuya’s arm to guide him to his own seat. “Will you still be meeting with Okumura this afternoon?”

“That’s today, isn’t it.” Kei removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, heaving a deep sigh. “God, I’m already exhausted. Suou—we’ll be going together. For now, you can help Eriko with cleaning.”

“I’m _reading,_ Kei,” Eriko waves a hand, leaving the books on a small table and returning to the other side of the room, “Yamaoka and I cleaned already.”

Yamaoka stands diligently at Kei’s desk side, a satisfied smile resting on his face. Tatsuya averts his eyes, and taps his fingers on the arm rest of his chair. “Actually—I’d like to talk to you about something. Sir.”

Kei returns his glasses to his face. “Is it _urgent?”_

“Somewhat.”

“Fine. What is it.”

Tatsuya lifts his gaze, looking at the cold stare of Nanjo. “The—work I was doing before you. Do you know anyone named ‘King Leo’?”

Eriko drops a third book she was about to place on the table. Its heavy hard cover knocks against her shoe with a dull thud, and she looks over at Tatsuya, critical. Kei’s stare changes as immediate as Eriko’s reaction, sitting up straighter, far less comfortable, but with his entire attention.

“Not many people know about him,” Kei says after a moment, grave and quiet. Tatsuya’s frown becomes more concerned. “He’s a private person.”

“Bebe—rather, Andre Gerard—told me the very same thing.” Tatsuya leans forward, arms on his knees. “The owner of Maisonette 9?”

“I know who you’re talking about, Suou.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about him? Why is he so secretive?”

Kei looks over to Eriko, who doesn’t return the stare—her brilliant smile and playful eyes have dimmed to a pensive mourning, keeping her head down. “He’s—a couple of things. A businessman, an entrepreneur, a socialite, a…”

Kei looks out the window, past Eriko. Finally, he looks at Tatsuya, rolling his words in his thoughts before he speaks. “… an _eccentric_ individual. A real cult of personality.”

Tatsuya furrows his brow. “Is he dangerous?”

“Depends on if you agree with his intentions or not.” Kei stands up from his desk, smoothing out his suit jacket. He passes Yamaoka and walks to Tatsuya, a hand waving him to stand. “I have never done business with him, but we have spoken on occasion. He was close with Kandori Takahisa, but he was not his only associate. He has reach all across the city.”

Tatsuya follows him to the window. Eriko takes to Tatsuya’s other side, and folds her hands behind her back. “He’s a very charismatic person. Wealthy and powerful, too.”

“Why haven’t I heard of him?” Tatsuya looks at her, but Kei talks next.

“As I said—he’s very private. _Very_. He rarely makes any kind of public appearance, and those appearances are limited.” He folds his arms. “There’s a chance you haven’t heard about him because of his friends in the papers.”

“Is he a criminal?”

Kei leans against the window, briefly looking out it, then at Tatsuya. “If you asked me, yes. But officially, no.”

Tatsuya’s expression hardens. “He’s not paying the police, is he?”

“I can’t say for sure.” Another sigh, and then, Kei looks at him with the same hard expression, with his voice becoming a lot more clearer. “I don’t know why you’re looking into him—but I mean it when I say, Suou, you _do not_ want to chase him. I can’t even imagine what he’d do to you if you angered him.”

“It’s not like you to give advice to me,” Tatsuya replies coldly, but Eriko’s hand is on him, so she can whip him around with a touch of viciousness.

“You don’t understand just what kind of person he is, Tatsuya,” she says, frustration seeping into her words. “He’s in the pockets of _every_ important force in the city. Kei and I—we’re one of the few people who don’t associate with his group, and the fact we’re still here in spite of that is his idea of a _service_ to us.”

Tatsuya looks away from her, humbled for a moment. Eriko blinks a few times—like she’s pushing away the start of tears. She remains dignified and keeps her voice steady. “We’ve lost some friends to him. I have, at least.”

She looks past Tatsuya at Kei, who doesn’t return the stare. He instead looks back out the window.

“You shouldn’t chase after him,” Kei warns once more. “Being curious won’t get you anywhere. I don’t want to clean up after more _legal troubles_ you might get into—whether or not he influences that outcome or not.”

The threat speaks past Nanjo’s words—it’s not something he says to intimidate Tatsuya, and he can hear it in the way he speaks, mournful and wary. Tatsuya looks over his shoulder, and the silence between all three of them lasts for several moments, before he asks one more question.

“Can you tell me his organization’s name, at least?”

Kei doesn’t reply immediately. He looks down at the city, far into the streets and shapes of people. The rain streaks against the window, obscuring the dark shadow of an afternoon rainstorm. “It’s called the Masked Circle. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Tatsuya.”

Tatsuya nods. Kei lifts himself off from the window, and walks across the room to the door. “I’ll be back. You ruined my mood. We leave for the Okumura meeting later.”

With that, Kei closes the door, and Eriko picks up the book from the floor. Tatsuya stays at the window, hands in his pockets, the sinking guilt an anchor in his stomach.


	24. ladies night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as of this chapter, i can comfortably say what the final chapter number will be. however, there is always a slight chance the chapter amount could go up or down, so please forgive me for any change in the final number! hopefully everyone is enjoying this fic and the length isn’t an issue at all.

It rains the following day, and well into the afternoon of the next. The rain keeps him restless, and when he steps out of the apartment complex, the wet asphalt is suffocating to breathe in. Midday’s sun creeps over the buildings surrounding him, casting thin shadows down across the clusters of pedestrians passing him.

He takes out a cigarette and hold it in his teeth while he looks for the lighter. Lisa’s dark glares burden down on him even when she’s not present - it’s enough to keep his smoking out of the apartment, well down in the streets below. Tatsuya turns and walks down the sidewalk, moving against the current of people who part to allow him to pass.

Under his arm, he holds his helmet close. Inwardly, Tatsuya is relieved the parking garage is a separate building; he’s had enough of navigating undergrounds. The ride to the Nanjo building is a long one, up through heavy traffic and into the heart of downtown. Closing in on the street fills him with a humiliated dread, and he’s tried to think about anything else.

There’s a ‘no smoking’ sign he’s chosen to ignore beneath the garage, a short road leading into the busy street past him. Tatsuya leans against the wall, and manages to take his phone out, holding it in the hand keeping the helmet to his side, cigarette between—

A missed call from Naoya. He swipes open his phone to call back, but an incoming call from his friend interrupts him. Concerned, Tatsuya presses the receiver to his ear. “Yes?”

 _“Tats, you have to come here right now. There’s an emergency—”_ Naoya interrupts his terse words with out-of-earshot murmurs, soothing and quiet. Tatsuya pushes himself off the wall and starts to enter the garage, pushing open the door.

“An emergency?” he repeats. “Are you in danger? Where’s Maki?”

_“She’s with me. We’re fine, it’s—you have to come here now. Someone’s been taken—”_

_“Yuka!”_ Maki’s voice is distant, but sharp and insistent, and equal parts desperate, _“You know——she is! Tell him——been taken!”_

_“Sorry, it’s—Yuka, the girl we went to the Velvet Room with—”_

Tatsuya throws the cigarette into a garbage bin and picks up his pace; he breaks into a run to his bike, the alarms in his head as shrill as Maki’s distant crying. The panic is distant, and he can deal with that—it’s harder to drive when it chokes him. Putting the helmet on quickly, he taps the wireless speaker— “Yes, I know her, she’s _missing?_ How did you find out?”

Naoya doesn’t reply for a moment, but he can hear Maki on the other line, her crying muffled, as if weeping into fabric. Naoya continues to speak to her, and once Tatsuya revs his bike to life, he returns. _“Both of us received an email. **And** a text message. Are you far?”_

“I’m leaving Lisa’s now,” he replies, not waiting for pedestrians on the road to wait. To his luck—no one gets in the way when he swings out from the garage, a wide turn to get in the furthest lane. The growing fear of the culprit starts to creep up Tatsuya’s throat, and he shakes it off by glaring forward and gripping his bike’s handlebars. “I’m on my way - I promise, I’ll be as fast as I can. You should—help her. Maki.”

He can hear Naoya say something again, out of focus, murmured into Maki’s hair. Tatsuya leans forward on the bike, and turns onto a less dense road to reach as fast as he can go. Distantly, Naoya mutters something that sounds like it’s for him—something short, like ‘hurry’, before the connection cuts. Tatsuya wants to close his eyes, shut them hard and wake up, but he just bears a harsher stare down the road.

The bike’s wheels grind to a shrieking halt at a red light. Quickly, he makes a call—

 _“Hello?”_ Maya asks, distracted.

“Maya, are you at work?”

_“Technically… I’m working from home today, so I don’t—”_

“It’s an emergency,” Tatsuya interrupts, and presses down on the gas the second the light turns green. “Naoya’s apartment—I need you there. Someone’s been kidnapped.”

Maya audibly gasps. He can hear some kind of rustling when she stands up from her desk. _“O-Of course. Do you know who it is?”_

“You don’t know her.” Tatsuya exhales harshly into the receiver, frustration starting to creep into each turn he makes and cut between vehicles. “She’s friends with Naoya’s girlfriend. Can you make it?”

 _“I have to—are they expecting me?”_ Maya reaches for something—a coat, possibly. _“I’ll just… tell them I know you. Are you almost there?”_

“I’ll be a bit. You need to do something first, though.”

_“What is it? Hurry.”_

“Check your emails and voicemails,” Tatsuya says gravely, breaking at an intersection just before the shadow of the Liberty Bridge. He stares up it, eyes flicking between its peaks and the light. “I have a bad feeling someone is angry with us.”

* * *

Maki is at the door. He hears Naoya’s worried voice before she whips it open, bloodshot eyes glaring deep into Tatsuya.

 _“You_ did this,” she heaves, voice cracked and dry from sobbing. Masao and Naoya are down the hall, and bump into each other running towards Maki when she jabs a finger into Tatsuya’s chest. “Whatever _bullshit_ you’re doing with Naoya, _you’re_ the one who got her taken—”

Tatsuya steps back when she prods him again. Masao takes Maki’s wrist, and she rips her hand out of his and smacks him away without breaking eye contact. “Maki—I didn’t do anything—”

“Whatever you, and Naoya, and Masao and _Kido_ are doing, you’re hurting _everyone_ around you,” she hisses, her eyes welling up with glassy tears once more. “You’ve—I’ve been told what you’re doing, Tatsuya, and I thought so much more of you.”

Tatsuya looks past Maki and at Naoya, who reaches past Masao to pull his hand back into the apartment door—and then looks up at Tatsuya, a defensive stare crossing his expression. The prickle of anger flares in Tatsuya’s chest, even when Maki pulls him by the collar to look her in the eye.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” she says, shades of sadness crossing her fury. “You better find her—”

Naoya grabs Maki and pulls her inside. She elbows him, but his grasp on her is a lot stronger. “Don’t _touch_ me!"

“He’s going to find her,” he tells Maki, and her gritted teeth tremble with a quivering lip in a shake of angry sadness one more. She pushes from Naoya’s arms with one more shove, and lowers her head. Tatsuya catches her glare once again when she turns and stomps back into the apartment, slamming the bedroom door. Naoya looks over his shoulder at Tatsuya, and Masao lowers his own head.

“Come in,” Masao mutters, and closes the door behind Tatsuya.

With a wary glance towards Naoya, Tatsuya follows Masao into the living room, where a laptop is open on the coffee table. Masao lets Naoya walk into the room ahead of him, who walks to the couch. Tatsuya makes his way to the window, where the afternoon sun has made its place. It’s out of place.

“I got an email,” Naoya breaks the silence, hands on the keyboard. “As well as a text message. The number was blocked. It just told me—her name.”

“What did the email say?” Tatsuya asks, looking down the stretch of road for Maya’s car—hopefully.

“It had more.” Naoya clicks on something on the screen, and then exhales before reading. “‘We’ve become concerned with your meddling, Naoya Toudou. As a precaution, we will be bringing a friend of yours into our custody. To discuss our solution, we will meet in person.’”

Tatsuya closes his eyes, and then opens them, staring hard out the window—something about looking at Naoya makes him uneasy right now. “But you haven’t been doing anything—have you?”

“Working with Reiji,” Naoya responds, quiet, and with a sigh. “It—couldn’t be King Leo, could it?”

“How the hell does he know your email address?” Masao asks, leaning on the arm of the couch. “And your _phone number?_ Hell, both yours _and_ Maki’s?”

Tatsuya folds his arms across his chest. “When I spoke to Nanjo… he told me that this King has a _powerful_ hand. He’s involved in more than enough businesses and activities across the city to get ahold of information like that.”

Masao stares between both of the other men, eyes wide with a stroke of fear. “No way… he’s _huge.”_

Naoya leans forward, elbows on the table, and sinks his face into his hands. “God. _Christ._ It’s—our fault.”

Against his better judgement, Tatsuya looks over his shoulder to Naoya. “Have you called Reiji yet?”

“Yes. He can't come, but...” Naoya looks up at Tatsuya, and his expression asks so much more than what he says. “You don’t think anything has happened to him, too?”

“Lets hope not.” Tatsuya lingers on Naoya, like he, too, has something else to say; something that needs less people, less space between them, less history building. Instead—a car down the street catches his eye, and he looks out the window instead. “—That’s Maya. She’s here.”

Wordlessly, Naoya pushes out the table to stand up, and Masao follows with him. The three begin to hover down the hall in silence, keeping their words between them. The space cleared between them—Naoya looks at Tatsuya, looking across his face with the same wary stare Tatsuya gave him in the doorway. Tatsuya’s cold glance tells him everything he could hear, and nothing he wants.

He doesn’t want to think about what Naoya’s told Maki. He doesn’t want to think about what Naoya thinks about him.

The knocks on the door are loud, desperate. When Masao opens the door, Maya’s face is drained of all colour, and she runs past him to Tatsuya, desperate.

“Tatsuya—it’s—she’s—” she grabs his arms, pressing them against his body, and her horror is shared with him. “They—whoever it is, they took Ulala—”

“Ulala?” Masao tries the name behind her, and it catches Maya’s attention like a hound catching scent. She whips her head around, and Tatsuya can see the tear stains on her cheeks. “Is, uh—is that a friend of yours?”

“She’s my _best friend,”_ Maya half-whispers in absolute despair, and her nails grip into Tatsuya’s arms. He manages to reach up and coax her release of him, and she looks back with fresh tears in her eyes. “It was an email, just like you said… they took her because we’re _‘concerning’_ them.”

Naoya closes the door as Masao stares, awestruck. “I got the same kind. Same _concern.”_

Maya breaks her grip from Tatsuya and walks past him, hands reaching into her hair and gripping her roots. “Oh my _god_ — what can we do? Call the police?”

“If he’s doing this kind of shit, _and_ he’s got our phone numbers, the police ain’t going to be much help,” Masao says. “He’s probably got the boss all paid off and everything.”

Tatsuya looks towards Masao, a sickness dwelling in him. then glances at Maya. “Kei warned me about that possibility the other day.”

She mutters an expletive under her breath. Maya pulls out her phone, and flips to her contact list.

“Who are you calling?” he asks, and Maya doesn’t look at Tatsuya.

“Yukino,” she replies, and walks into the living room. “Wherever we’re going—she’s coming with me. She can help.”

He nods, and follows Maya’s steps when she passes the archway of the room, reaching for his own phone. Nervously, Tatsuya walks into the kitchen, holding the phone to his ear. It rings four times, and each time, his heart feels a little more wrung.

 _“Tatsuya?”_ Lisa’s voice is a deep relief. _“I can’t talk right now. Can you call back?”_

“Yes,” he replies, with a great sigh rushing from his lungs. He continues, “Sorry about that,” and then hangs up, leaning forward on the nearest surface—a refrigerator, its magnets pushed to the side and holding a myriad of fliers—to rest his head in the crook of his arm. Someone lingers in the doorway, and it’s probably Naoya; Masao would say something. Naoya is the one who speaks with him in silence these days. Careful stares and wary glances.

Something in Tatsuya makes him want to ask what it was meant to all lead up to, but he doesn’t know if Naoya could answer that. It’s better to keep quiet. It saves the conversation its end. He can hear Naoya turn around and walk into the other room, leaving Tatsuya alone once more.

Maya sits herself on the couch. Masao tries to pat her shoulder, but she gently brushed his hand away.

“She’s alright,” Maya says, holding her phone and resting against her hand. “She’ll come with us to whatever meeting spot this discussion will happen.”

“Is she alright with our—line of work?” Naoya asks, wary.

“She’ll get curious after this, but…” Maya sighs. “Even if she isn’t... she knows how serious this is.”

Tatsuya looks over to the doorway of the living room, where Naoya stands. Quietly, he passes him, returning to the window where he stood before, far away from the gathering trio in the room. Maya looks up at him, but Tatsuya doesn’t notice.

“Do you know if anyone else is hurt?” she asks.

“Lisa’s alright,” he replies, hands slipping to his pockets. Maya sighs once more with heavy relief, and leans back on the couch. Tatsuya opens his email application on his phone—a message without a subject sits at the top of the inbox, and he furrows his brow, straightens his posture, and opens it. Naoya notices, and crosses the room.

“I have something,” Tatsuya says. He swipes down to scroll to the bottom, but the text offers an image of a masked and one line of text—a house in Beachgate. He tilts the phone for Naoya to see, who then frowns.

“It must be the location,” he muses. “Do you think they’ll be there?”

“Ulala and Yuka? No.” Tatsuya shuts off his phone. “Their captors? Absolutely.”

Naoya looks at Tatsuya’s hand for a moment longer, then meets his eye with a stronger stare than he’s given him all afternoon. “Should we go now?”

“There’s no reason not to,” Tatsuya says, and looks at Maya. “Tell Yukino the address. We are not waiting a second longer.”

Masao and Maya stand up at the same time, with Maya reaching for her phone. Masao looks down the hall, and bites his bottom lip. “I might stay and see if she’s alright.”

“Maki…” Naoya mutters, looking at the door frame. He sighs. “Masao—come with me.”

Both men leave the room. Maya keeps her gaze focused on the blank television screen, her thumb’s nail between her teeth as she reflects quietly, waiting for Yukino to pick up the phone once again. Tatsuya leans against the blind, eyes on the ceiling, and feels despair look for him again.

* * *

 

Maki wordlessly let Naoya leave once Yukino arrived with her own car. The three of them climbed inside, and Masao returned to the apartment as the sun started to glow with gold on the city’s horizon.

The ride became quiet once Maya explained where they were going. To spite the silence, the radio remains on, with host Meteor Masa filling the car with celebrity fascinations and rumourmongering gossip. Tatsuya’s eyes focus out the window, but wander back inside when he can feel Naoya looking at him.

They stare. They always stare. Tatsuya has one arm leaning against the window rocker his head propped up, and Naoya has both arms crossed. In the front seat, Yukino holds Maya’s hand, stroking her knuckles with her calloused thumb. But between Naoya and Tatsuya—what lingers is still water. The darkness of a quiet sea.

A part of him wants to think about what it’d be like to drive down the city’s streets without a thought for what came the next day. The other part of him wants to think about driving fast down the highway, not caring if he died, Naoya next to him and a better smile on his face. He can’t explain why he thinks of that—just the car, just Naoya.

The final part of him is tired of the silence. Maybe some day they’re going to sit each other down with no one around to talk. That same day, Tatsuya’s going to quit smoking. Who knows when it’ll happen.

The setting sun sends a glare through the front window of Yukino’s car when they pull into the closed Beachgate neighbourhood. Tatsuya looks out the window past Naoya, and the foliage and sidewalk becomes familiar. Mercifully—the first turn is a different street, and the memory of Chizuru Ishigami leaves for another time.

“Think it’ll be on the left,” Yukino mutters, rolling her window down to glance out. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Is that it?” Maya asks, pointing to a sprawling estate on the same side. Yukino slows down, and peers closer. With a grunt, she pulls into the driveway, her car remaining on the road as a valet steps towards her car. An older woman in a black suit, with a strange veil over her face.

“You must be the King’s guests,” she says, with a cold voice and an empty smile.

Yukino frowns. “How can you tell?”

“Every guest is accounted for at the mansion,” she replies, her eyes narrowing to match the curved slit she calls a smile. “And I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

Yukino keeps her stare. So does the woman.

“I recognize everyone.” It’s said like a threat. The gate opens. “Proceed to the left side of the driveway. Enter the manor immediately.”

Yukino presses the gas hard enough to jerk her companions forward when she moves again. Her eyes remain on the rear view window, and she mutters, “Fucking freak.”

It’s cold out. The last month of summer does not linger in the coming evenings, so Tatsuya pulls his jacket over himself a little more as he follows the girls into the building. Its exterior is decorated with extravagant flowers, a garden rich with beautiful colour and vines growing up two large marble pillars before the door. The steps are solid rock, and his eyes linger on the garden and the illuminated windows before the door opens without a knock. Yukino grips Maya’s hand a little tighter when Maya guides them inside first.

Life pulses through the manor. Glances pass momentarily towards the door before returning to their conversations with faceless individuals, a steady volume of murmurs, whispers and laughter rolling through the large foyer and out the door. A great staircase leads to a second floor populated by just as much people, lingering at the balcony and staring down at the new arrivals. The mystery lingers when a hand comes down on Tatsuya’s shoulder, and a curiously masked individual leans up at him close, freezing his blood.

“King Leo wishes to see you promptly,” they say, words muffled by the solid surface of the carved mask. The paint shines in the chandelier light and depicts a wicked, joker smile, with wide eyes. “I ask that you follow.”

Though they do not hold Tatsuya much longer, they guide the four arrivals through the crowd, which parts to allow them passage. Curious questions pass his hearing, gossip blooming like the flower in the garden. The walk to a large, solid door from the entrance is not a long one, but the mass of people makes it seem a lot longer than it need be.

Three of them enter. Tatsuya turns his head with Maya, and Yukino’s hair seems caught in the sea of people, her attention drawn to a masked woman with a tray of glass. Then, the door closes.

“Welcome,” a voice calls them forward, and both look into the room. A large table sits in the centre, with tall bookcases surrounding them against the wall. Thick, heavy curtains are drawn shut over the windows, and the dark wallpaper does not give the room any sort of welcoming feeling. The only light comes from a smaller chandelier at the ceiling, as well as a single candlestick in the middle of the table. Five individuals are seated at the head of the table—all masked.

The head of the table is a large figure, masked with lion-like features. The pale white of the masks and the golden frame illuminate in the brilliant light, and the black painted carvings are a cold greeting dipped in shadow. Long blond hair runs past the mask, like a great lion’s mane, and a great red gem fixates itself at the crown. His hand extended, he gestures to the seats at the end of the table. “Take a seat. Thank you for arriving on time.”

Cautiously, and slowly, the three of them sit down, clustered together. The shadow of the room casts down over them, while the light remains bright in the shine of their masks. The four figures surrounding this king sit quietly—two on each side of his. Tatsuya’s eyes don’t linger on them for long, instead watching the man directly down the table from him with deep uncertainty.

“Are you King Leo?” he asks. Though he isn’t sure, he believes the man smiles.

“That I am.” He folds his hands together and rests them on the surface of the table. “Tatsuya Suou, Maya Amano, and Naoya Toudou—I’ve learnt quite a bit about all three of you.”

“Was there a reason you didn’t contact us under _normal_ circumstances?” Maya asks, her brow furrowed and eyes critical.

“Your actions and behaviour forced our hand,” the figure to King Leo’s right speaks—a woman, with a green scarf and long black hair. Her mask is painted with a deep frown. “However—we have _always_ been aware of you.”

Maya looks at Tatsuya nervously. He keeps his own eyes down the length of the table. “What are your names?”

King Leo looks to the woman on his right, and then to the other figures on his left. “We are the leaders of the Circle.” Gesturing to his left, each individual nods. “Prince Taurus and Lord Virgo reside to my left. To my right—Lady Scorpio, and my Queen Aquarius. As my Queen said, we have followed your actions for some time. It is with the passing of a _dear friend_ of mine that we were forced to take action.”

Though he cannot see his eyes—he feels the King upon him. “But we are not here to discuss your fault, Tatsuya Suou. I understand you are here to listen to our ultimatum.”

Tatsuya clenches his fists against the table. “I’m here to bring the women you took home.”

 _“Just_ the girls?” Prince Taurus asks, and he leans back in his chair, arm over the back. “If that’s all you’re looking for, that will make your job a lot easier.”

He glares, with a strike of frustration reaching his brow. “What are you talking about?”

Prince Taurus looks towards the King, gesturing in Tatsuya’s direction with the detachment of a man throwing away garbage. “He didn’t even _check,_ my lord.”

“Then that is his choice, Prince Taurus,” King Leo says, with a touch of warning. Tatsuya’s fists grip tighter, but it’s Naoya who has the epiphany. He grabs Tatsuya’s arm.

“Did you call your brother?” he asks, hushed, and Tatsuya’s glare breaks, the horror swelling deep inside of him. Across the table, Prince Taurus seems to laugh lowly, but a careful stare of Lord Virgo quiets him. Tatsuya’s hands release and he leans back in his chair, the ghost of fear running up his spine. Maya’s hands are on him, and the room suddenly becomes too bright.

He thinks of a dark room. He thinks of Katsuya, and he stares down the table at King Leo. “You’re a monster.”

“We must hold on to whatever _collateral_ we can to convince you to cooperate,” he replies coldly. Tatsuya stands up with a scrape of the chair on the floor, but Maya and Naoya are quick to rise and pull him back down. Tatsuya pulls against their arms when he’s back in his seat, and the King smiles behind the mask once more. “We ask that you try to understand our guiding hand while you comply with our requests.”

“What _‘guiding hand’?”_ Tatsuya snarls, more animal than man.

“The Masked Circle’s primary goal is to teach the people of this city—and its _country_ —the truth of the mask,” Lady Scorpio replies, as cold as the King, “to understand the thrill in becoming someone you were born to be. Under our employ, we encourage you to learn of the values of our organization and consider the truth. We hope you will be able to overlook the circumstances that have brought us together.”

Tatsuya presses against the hands of Maya and Naoya again to force them off, but remains seated. The anger in him blurs his vision, and he closes his eyes tight to steady himself. His mind roams to Katsuya every few moments, and the rage mixes with fear when he opens his eyes. Still, he doesn’t look away from the white masks, the gems, and the darkness in their eyes.

“We’ll do as you ask,” he mutters, with Naoya and Maya bristling at his side.

King Leo gestures towards Lord Virgo with a nod. He lifts a briefcase off the floor at his chair’s side, and opens it silently, removing a stack of documents and passing it to King Leo. As he closes the case, their leader lays the papers before him. “In exactly three days, you will accompany one of my children to a dance club in the city. You will assist him in speaking to the club manager and tell him of his impending payment.”

“Is this extortion?” Tatsuya asks. It earns him a glance upward, and he steadies himself. “Will we have to be armed, is what I’m asking.”

“Yes.” King Leo seems satisfied with the question. Tatsuya exhales a quiet breath. “Therefore, protection of the Masked Circle’s child is your priority. Do not concern yourself with the wellbeing of patrons or employees.”

“Is this an _actual_ child, or…?” Maya nervously looks over, and the laugh he gives is short.

“Of course not. In days time, you will meet him.” A short chuckle follows his words. Rage and frustration entwine together inside of him, a coil up his spine and throat when Tatsuya finally rises again. “I am thankful our formal introduction was as simple as it could have been, Tatsuya Suou. I will be hearing from you promptly following your mission.”

Maya and Naoya soon stand up with Tatsuya, and follow him out of the room. A hand reaches out after Tatsuya once the door shuts, and he turns to expect Maya, and instead looks to Naoya’s sympathetic stare. Maya leans next to him, eyes elsewhere.

“I need to find Yukino,” she mutters, scanning the crowd, “you two should get outside, quickly. I’ll bring her out right away.”

The crowd of people blend together as one mass of faceless individuals—there are a select few masks that populate the great hall, but he is suddenly all the more acutely aware of their presence. He isn’t quite sure what mask symbolizes what status, but the black paint and white surfaces catch in the light with every step he takes through each body in his way, Naoya’s hand gripped in his. The rush of cold evening air hits him like an ocean’s wave, and he doesn’t make eye contact with the masked figures at the door.

When he’s free, when _they’re_ free, Tatsuya reaches the car door before Naoya pulls him back and faces him. His hands remain on Tatsuya’s arms. Tatsuya stares at Naoya, wide eyed and pulled apart. A few moments later, he drops his head into Naoya’s shoulder, eyes shut, with Naoya staring past his head, arms silently around his shoulders.


	25. bahama lights

“What did I _fucking_ tell you?”

Tatsuya feels his skin burn beneath the surface. His head hangs low and his body slouches in the chair, with Kei-fucking-Nanjo staring him down from across the desk.

“Are you an _idiot?_ Did you think I was _joking?”_ Kei leans against his desk with open hands towards Tatsuya. “What, did you think - ‘nothing’s going to happen to me, it’s just a warning from the wealthiest man in the country, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about’?”

“I didn’t think that,” Tatsuya mutters, a dead response.

“You didn’t _think_ , period.” Kei snaps his fingers, and before him Yamaoka brings forth a small tablet computer. With a few swipes, Kei opens a window and holds it in front of Tatsuya. A web page, the U.C.L Paper’s home website looks up backs at him; the article title is _Police captain, girlfriend reported missing._ He feels the sickness inside stir.

“That’s him, right? Your brother? The one who threw you out? The one who wanted to _fire_ you?” Kei pries, edging Tatsuya’s fists to clench tighter.

“Kei, that’s enough,” the wary voice of Eriko breaks both their focus, narrowing her eyes from Tatsuya’s side. “Berating someone doesn’t make a point.”

“His skull’s too thick to take any warnings _seriously,_ Eriko,” Kei says with a click of his tongue, only offering his partner a moment’s glance. “Seems like pissing him off’s the only way my words get through to him.”

“Then what?” Eriko presses her fists into her hips, and stands taller than Tatsuya thinks he could now. “You better do something to help, after.”

“Are you joking?” Kei asks in shrill bewilderment, pushing himself off the desk in absolute shock. “This is not my fault. I have zero-fucking-reason to even offer my sympathy.”

“What about Yuriko? And Tomomi?” Eriko returns the jab with a shout of her own, sharper and louder than Kei’s baffled outcry. “You just don’t care about what that group does to innocent people?”

Kei glares at Eriko’s defiance. “I never said that—”

“Letting two innocent women and Tatsuya’s brother be mistreated and taken just to twist his arm a little because it’s not your problem is saying exactly that.” Eriko clenches her fists and straighten her arms at her side, furious - the fire inside her ignites to a vicious oil fire, and Tatsuya lifts his head to look at her. An epiphany of dear dawns on him, troubling him.

“What happened to those friends of yours?”

Eriko looks at him, and the anger subsides. “The Masked Circle is more than just a cult. They lure people in, and get their attention with their mask idea… but they do secret trades under the table. Weapons, drugs, even trafficking.”

Her gaze falls. “Animals and humans. Our friends… I haven’t heard from them in months.” Eriko takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if they just don’t want to talk to us anymore… or if something worse happened. But it’s why something has to be done.”

She looks at Kei, a wicked glare once more on her face. “If you’re not going to do something, then the Kirishima brand will. We’ll put together as much money as we can—”

“I think not,” Kei interrupts, head hanging and wiping his glasses. When he returns them to his face, he sighs. “You’re indignant, not foolish. You’ll put a target on your entire family’s back if you openly oppose them like that.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Tatsuya asks, finally sitting up.

“Demanding their return and taking action against their orders will definitely get them killed.” Kei muses, like it was a business decision to make. “You, as well. Complying with their orders might be all you can do for now, while we think about our options.”

“We have no idea if they will keep them alive, or even in the city,” he retorts, sharply. Kei’s eyes shut and he takes a deep breath, tested.

“As dishonest as they are, if they were going to kill them, they’d kill you at the same time.” He steps from around his desk. Yamaoka fetches the tablet. “We have to approach this carefully, Suou. If you want your brother alive, you have to agree to what you’re being told.”

Tatsuya’s eyes are hopeful. Kei notices, and sighs quietly.

“... I will put forward efforts to help rescue your brother, his girlfriend, and your friend. It will take time to plan, but… sabotage takes patience and time. And it will be done.”

Tatsuya stands up, almost shaking. Kei’s hand reaches up, pausing, like he doesn’t know what to do with it. Stiffly, he presses it against Tatsuya’s shoulder, and the gesture means more than he can show. It feels like an open window in a warm building, filled with smoke and steam. Tatsuya drops his shoulders, and exhales with a nod.

“What task do you have to do?” Eriko asks, a hand on Tatsuya’s elbow.

“Today, we’re going to a club.” Kei raises an eyebrow, and Tatsuya averts his eyes. “Extortion. We’re meeting with the owner.”

“His name?”

“I don’t know his name. The club is Bahama Mamas?”

Kei ponders for only a moment, then the revelation hits him. “Ah. The owner is Naozumi Kariyazaki. He is fixated on maintaining high level security - if he’s being sought by the Circle, it’s no wonder.” He pulls out his phone, and swipes it open. “I will arrange for your ride. I will have you adequately prepared for your mission.”

“—Thanks, but I have my bike,” he hurriedly responds, as Kei walks back around his desk.

“It will be returned to your apartment.” Kei doesn’t look up from his phone. Tatsuya frowns. “Just tell me where you live.”

Tatsuya looks over at a Eriko, who just smiles something comforting. He’ll take her grin as a wish of good luck rather than an excuse for Kei. “Alright. Thank you.”

“Wouldn’t want to be late.” Kei finally looks up. “Get going. I will speak to you soon.”

* * *

Maybe he could get used to limousine rides and a sharp drink poured in the back seat. Under better circumstances, of course. And without Yamaoka keeping him in the car for a moment longer for one of Kei’s “surprises”.

The butler opens a black case, clasped with steel. When he opens the lid, Tatsuya’s eyes widen at the silver plated pistol, looking up at Yamaoka in disbelief.

“Master Nanjo insisted you keep it after your operations are completed,” Yamaoka says, closing the case when Tatsuya takes the weapon. “It is easily concealable, and will provide you plenty of protection.”

Several short magazines are passed his way. Tatsuya takes them, uneasy, and looks for pockets to slip them into. Without lifting his head, he pauses and mutters, “Thank you.”

Yamaoka smiles, and chuckles under his breath once Tatsuya secures the gun in his jacket. “As well—to ensure your complete protection, Master Nanjo will provide you with something else.”

A black knife is passed towards Tatsuya. Cautious, he takes the blade and slips it to his pocket, and then looks at Yamaoka with his head hanging. The gun sits uncomfortably in his jacket, but it is secured, pressed against his body. With a little difficulty, he opens the limousine door and steps out, as the older man leans to close the door.

“Good luck, Master Suou,” Yamaoka calls, and the vehicle drives away.

Night has drawn over the city. The sidewalks are packed with people clustering in the red rope line for entrance to the club, whose purple and blue sign illuminated the building. Lights of all colours light up the street in a dark shine, but standing beneath the Bahama Mamas martini shaped sign colours his jacket and hands blue and purple.

Lingering near pedestrians strikes an anxious match in him—but he doesn’t linger in line for long until a hand taps his shoulder, and he turns to see Maya.

“This way,” she says, taking his arm and guiding him. Her cardigans and flared brown pants have been replaced with a sequin shirt and loose black shorts. Maybe it’s to blend in. He just hopes she’s safe.

“Who are we meeting?” he asks, quickening his pace to match Maya’s.

“He’s around the back—there’s someone who can sneak us inside.”

Down the length of the building, where the blue and purple lights are replaced with service white, and the bustle of the street is just a distant memory, a man stands by a side entrance. He watches Tatsuya and Maya approach, leaning against the wall by the door’s knob. He brushes black hair out of his face, and looks at Tatsuya longer than he does Maya.

“Is this him?” he asks, with a surprisingly gentle, inquisitive voice. His white shirt is decorated in large roses, and his sleeves are loose around the elbow. His hand lingers on his chin, pondering.

“Yes,” Maya says, her uneasiness relieved. “Tatsuya, this is Jun.”

“Kurosu,” Jun finishes, his gentle hand now extended towards Tatsuya. Apprehensive, Tatsuya shakes it. “The King told you that you would assist me this evening, correct?”

Both nod. Jun’s smile is mischievous and satisfied.

“Then we should waste no time. Inside, there is a woman who will assist us in moving past this door.” Jun pushes himself off the wall with an elegant roll, and turns himself to open the door.

It opens slowly, the heavy steel held open by Maya as the three file in. Both Tatsuya and Maya take pause when the large body of a guard lays on the ground, face down. Another body rests against a wall, and the only person standing is a girl, just a few years younger than him.

“You know I could hear you,” she says, smirking. Jun laughs, light and airy.

“That’s hardly my fault—you should have been able to tell I was whispering, then.” He looks over his shoulder at the other two. “This is Musubu. She will assist us in locating the club’s manager.”

“He’s out of his office right now,” Musubu replies, “I’ve made sure he’ll be on the floor for a while. It can be perfect time to sneak it and set up what you need.”

Tatsuya makes a troubled expression, and glances at one of the large bodies laying on the ground instead. Musubu notices, and tips herself forward to catch his attention.

“They’re not dead,” she assures, “they’re just not going to wake up for a while.”

Tatsuya presses his mouth into a thin line. He’d rather not know what the small girl’s methods are.

“Maya,” Jun says, with a hand gesturing to Musubu. “Please remain with Musubu and keep watch for anyone looking for our target. Tatsuya—I would like you to assist me.” He gives a gentle smile, and it soothes some of the uncertainty burning inside Tatsuya’s chest. Both nod, and when Musubu leaves the room, the three follow.

The music reminds him of Maisonette—powerful, deep sounds that pulses through the building, with lit up glass floors to dance on. Two large dance floors flash with bright neon squares changing colour, and are packed with moving, dancing bodies. The mass is difficult to navigate through, but Jun’s shirt is bright, even through the shadow of bodies and darkness, illuminated momentarily with a stray light casting down over them. Across the floor, through lounge chairs and loud laughter and jeers, there is a solid wall, with a nondescript, windowless door. When Jun opens it, plain light spills out.

“In here,” he says, gesturing for Tatsuya. Tatsuya looks over his shoulder at Maya and Musubu, and the young dancer gives a peace sign and a wink before he closes the door behind him.

The office light is bright. It strains his eyes, from the flashing neon amid darkness. He pinches the bridge of his nose while covering his eyes, listening to Jun move through the office furniture. When he opens his eyes, the desk chair is pulled out, and he’s collecting papers.“Your name is… Kurosu, right?” he asks, awkward and uncertain.

“It is.” Jun doesn’t look up, but he briefly sighs. _“Yes,_ Junko is my mother.”

“Sorry.” Tatsuya reaches the hand to his neck, and scratches it, sheepish. “I guess you get that a lot.”

“Not much, anymore. But I do.” Jun stacks the paper neatly, and adjusts it against the table. “We’ll need the combination to his safe. Hopefully, he will return promptly. I dislike the music very much.”

Tatsuya looks behind him at the door. “Where do you want to stand?”

“You stand at the door. Keep him inside when he returns.” Jun rests the stacked paper on the desk, and takes a seat in the chair. “Oh—it’s soft.”

His smile is bright, and for a moment, more innocent than who he is. Tatsuya leans back against the wall next to the door, watching his grin.

* * *

“You don’t have to sit so close,” Maya mutters, averting her eyes.

“It’s just so I look like I’m talking to you,” Musubu says, her body sliding down the arm of a couch glowing bright under the wall’s blacklights. Her body rests against Maya’s, her chest making acquaintanceship with Maya’s shoulders. “I’m not making you _uncomfortable,_ am I?”

“It’s alright,” she responds quickly, reaching a hand up impulsively, only to accidentally graze the girl’s bare stomach. When she pulls her hand back, face flushing, the girl laughs.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. Unless…” she tips her head. “Are you seeing someone?”

“Yes,” she says, slowly looking back at the girl. “… Yes. I am. She’s… a great girl.”

Musubu adjusts how she sits, pushing herself a little farther off Maya. For this, she is grateful. “You sound uncertain.”

Maya sighs. “It’s not her fault at all. What’s been happening recently… it’s just stressing us both out.” Her gaze roams to the dance floor, where women dance with women and hold each other close. Musubu watches them with her, a comforting hand replacing the touch on her shoulder. “I wish it was easier. I don’t want to hurt her or anything.”

“You’re the people our King brought in, right?” Musubu lifts herself up a little, and Maya follows her with her eyes. “… Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Have you… heard about a missing girl, recently?” Musubu’s eyes wander away, and Maya feels a stroke of concern. “Her name is Akari Torikiki. She’s been missing for a few weeks.”

Maya frowns. She doesn’t like the feeling creeping up on her. “Someone was taken from you, too?”

Musubu stares, shocked. She pushes a little on Maya to move over, and then slips down on to the cushion, taking her hands into her own. “Don’t tell me they’re—”

She stops. Her eyes roam past Maya, who turns her head to look back, and watches a man in a black suit open the dark painted door and step inside. Her gaze turns back to the young dancer, who seems to hold her breath, the confidence completely washed away from her. She grips Maya’s hands a little tighter, and mutters, “I hope it goes well.”

* * *

The door closes right as Tatsuya grabs Naozumi’s arm and the back of his neck —he twists his wrist up his back, and shoves his head forward to keep him down, his outcry silenced by the music outside. Jun lifts himself out of the chair, a steel handcuff slipping from his hand, lock opened.

“Hello, Kariyazaki,” Jun says, grabbing his free, flailing hand and latching a cuff around it, and with Tatsuya’s assistance, pulls him into the chair with a vicious precision. Jun draws his arm back, and slams his elbow into the other man’s cheek, throwing his dizzied head to the side. Tatsuya steps back, as Jun continues strapping him into the seat.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?!” the man eventually spits, a brilliant red already spreading across his cheekbone. The bruise will linger for days—Tatsuya can tell from just the sheer size.

“Representatives of the Circle that you have _wrongfully_ antagonized,” Jun replies. Crossing his arms, Jun sits against the desk in front of Naozumi, the impish smile from before a distant memory. He looks down to his right, where a black safe sits underneath. “This is the club’s safe, correct? Tell me the combination.”

“Go to hell,” Naozumi snarls, pulling against the bindings on his wrists. Jun sighs deeply, and beckons over Tatsuya. Without question, he finds himself following — for Jun to reach into his jacket, grab the weapon, and withdraw it to aim at Naozumi’s head, who recedes farther into the chair when the barrel fixates between his eyes. His fear keeps him a steady hostage, and doesn’t noticed the surprise cross Tatsuya.

“I do _not_ want to use this,” Jun says, patient and quiet. “Please, tell me what the combination is. Your wrongdoings against my father have not been overlooked.”

“How did you get into my club—” Jun’s hand carefully switches the safety off, and his head tilts. Naozumi tries to lean back farther, his head pressing into the back of the chair. “It-it’s—it’s three—”

“Tatsuya, open the safe,” Jun says, without breaking his stare from his captive. Tatsuya closes his mouth, presses his teeth together, and kneels at the safe, pressing the third button of the numeric keypad. His hand lingers by Jun’s leg, and he quietly taps his calf, asking him to move.

Jun wordlessly adjusts how he sits. “Continue.”

“It’s three, eight, one.” Naozumi’s eyes almost cross staring down the barrel, his chest rising and falling a little more rapidly as the fear settles further inside. Tatsuya presses the remaining buttons, and a quiet ‘click’ opens the door, which slowly swings open to thick stacks of hundred dollar bills. Jun slips off the desk, and pulls a duffel bag from the other side of the desk across the floor towards Tatsuya.

Quickly, and without hesitation, Naozumi kicks his leg forward, slamming into the arm that Jun holds up towards his face with the gun. Jun drops it, pulling his arm back and biting his tongue to withhold the cry of pain. Tatsuya grabs the gun and stands up with it, and pushes the seat back, aims down to his shin—

The spray of gunfire is short. Bullets rip through skin, and blood rips through the skin as the scream does the lungs. Naozumi’s mouth hangs open as he breathes loud, unsteady gasps, gripping the edges of the armrests and pulling against the steel cuffs. His body trembles with the pain, blood darkening the suit’s pants as Tatsuya kneels back down, wordlessly. He looks at Jun for only a moment before pulling the money into the bag, laying the weapon on its side.

“We need to hurry,” he tells him, reaching up on the desk to grab the papers previously stacked together. “I don’t know if anyone heard that, but if they did—”

“Why did you do that?” Jun asks, wide eyed, words coloured with mystified wonder. Tatsuya looks up at him again, watching him for a moment longer.

“It—came as a natural reaction,” he admits. He doesn’t like how that sounds, or how it sits on his tongue. Still, Jun grabs the bag and slips the weapon inside, before zipping it shut.

“Thank you,” he replies, the humility from before returning to him. With a deep breath, he lifts the heavy bag to his shoulder and stands, looking at Naozumi, who heaves through the pain and hangs his head. Tatsuya stands up, and grabs Jun’s arm to pull him across the office, stopping at the door.

“How did you know I was armed?” he asks, looking back with a hand on the door.

Jun glances to the side, aimless. “I was looking at you,” he admits.

Tatsuya lingers for a moment, before opening the handle, shutting it quick behind them before Naozumi can scream again.

The crowd is crossed between curiosity and blissful ignorance; he can see it in how the patrons dance, moving together in uneven beats and looking around the floor. Some have stopped all together, and Tatsuya makes little time to guide Jun towards Maya and Musubu, who are alert, on their feet.

“We need to go,” Tatsuya says, walking past both of them.

“Was that… you?” Maya asks, pulling back on his arm for a moment to get his attention. When Tatsuya doesn’t respond, Maya’s expression grows troubled in the darkness.

“I have to go,” Musubu calls over the music, pushing on Maya’s back towards the storage entrance. The bodies remain on the floor, silent. “You do, too. They can’t—nobody can find you, you need to go.”

Maya turns her head, and holds herself in the doorway. “If you need to talk—”

“I will,” Musubu stalls, lingers against Maya. She watches her for a second longer, then closes her eyes to nod. “I will call you. Thank you… Maya.”

Maya’s smile is a sad one. Tatsuya pushes open the side door, the cool of night filtering through the warm building. Maya steps out soon after Jun, and the door closes with a lock. She looks towards Tatsuya, a wave of distrust crossing over her, before she exhales a sigh she had been holding.

“Lets go,” she says, almost mournful. She looks at the bag over Jun’s arm, her frown lingering. “Is that what we came for?”

“Yes,” Jun says, looking down at it. The calm seems to exhaust out of him, and he reaches over with hands to support the bag. “It’s everything.”

“Is it… money?” she asks, her brow furrowing. Even with the darker expression on Jun’s face, he still responds with a nod, and starts to lead them down the alley’s path.

“The Father is furious with Kariyazaki,” he admits, “and he wished to collect a ‘revenge payment’ with my assistance. No punishment shall come our way for our actions—”

“But don’t you feel bad?” Maya asks, and Jun looks back at her.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel,” he confesses, “only that my job is done.”

Maya’s frustrated expression returns. She lowers her head, staring at the concrete, and clenches her fists. Tatsuya watches her until the club’s lights filter down over them again, casting the three in a luminous glow of blue and pink. When he lifts his head, he stops with his heel against the sidewalk, looking up at two larger men, clothed in the same uniform as the fallen guards inside.

“We’d like to talk,” one of them says, arms crossed. “Were you three inside?”

Tatsuya and Maya both tense, but Jun slips ahead of both, and looks at the men, lingering in both of their eyes. “Yes, we were. I have just finished business with your employer.”

The man to the right takes pause, and then steps back, guiding his partner with him. “Of course—thank you for informing us, mister Kurosu. You—may go.”

“Thank you,” Jun says, and continues to walk, beckoning Tatsuya and Maya to follow. Both hurriedly walk along, catching up to Jun as the warning whisper between the men pass between the other. Tatsuya stares at the back of Jun’s head, and continues to stare until Jun stops them by the car that Tatsuya presumes both he and Maya arrived in. When Jun turns around, he looks at Maya for a moment, and then lingers on Tatsuya.

“They know who I am,” Jun replies, simple. “I have been made to do business with Kariyazaki before. This may be my final mission involving his business with the Father, however — I hope it is.”

Someone steps out of the vehicle, in a black coat and dark glasses. He opens the back seat door, and Jun steps inside, beckoning with a nod for his company to follow. Tatsuya steps inside, and the chauffeur guides Maya to the passenger seat, opening the door for her as well. Jun looks over at Tatsuya, the bag left between them.

“You may take your weapon back,” Jun says, while Tatsuya looks over. He opens the bag and sifts through the overturned money, digging out the pistol and returning it to his jacket. Jun watches him, patient. “Thank you, again, for defending me.”

Tatsuya stares into the back headrest of the driver’s seat, and sighs, quietly. “It was a violent decision. I regret reacting that way.”

Jun leans back in the seat, looking at the bag with a forlorn expression. Tatsuya slowly moves his gaze over to Jun to watch him, and feels what must be pity cross him as he watches how Jun’s expression falls to something more pensive. He closes his eyes to exhale, exhausted, and then looks up at Tatsuya. “Still - I appreciate your intentions.”

He glances away from Jun, whose smile is genuine. The sincerity gets to him, and it makes him close his eyes. The car slows as traffic builds, and Maya’s distant voice to the chauffeur seems to turn the radio on, an overenthusiastic voice filling the car at a too-late time in the night for such volume. The car rolls down the street, the lights of buildings peering through the tinted windows and relaxing Tatsuya’s growing tension. Always tense. Always with the headache on the horizon.

Tatsuya’s eyes roam through the car when they pull to another light. Maya rests her head against the window, her breathes quiet and gentle. Jun looks out the window, his phone illuminated in his lap but forgotten about. As he leads his eyes back to his own window, he notices a dollar bill on the top of the bag.

Tatsuya picks it up, but before he holds it to Jun, notes the writing on top of it. He glances at it—and sees a written phone number.

He cautiously looks at Jun again, who doesn’t look back. Folding the bill and tucking it into his pocket, Tatsuya rests his mouth against his palm and stares out the window, and—tries not to overthink it.


	26. playing with fire

Jun’s posture shifts from something demure and coy to one far more formal when the limousine pulls to a stop before a condominium in Varsity Heights. Tatsuya notices, and silently lifts his head.

"The Father will be in the penthouse apartment," says Jun, and he quickly exits the vehicle, closing the door behind him.

The driver opens Tatsuya’s door for him, as he pulls the bag across the back seat and over his shoulder. His eyes roam up the exterior of the building, towering high above the street, with several illuminated windows up the brown brick. The top floor, high above the rest of the dotted lights, is a solid stripe of lit windows. Maya walks close by his side, while Jun walks ahead of them both, solitary. He holds the door open for them, and it is the longest glance he offers them before his eyes return ahead.

"Good evening, mister Kurosu," the receptionist calls, a beautiful woman with empty eyes. "They are expecting you."

"Thank you," Jun replies, and walks to the elevators across from the desk. Both Maya and Tatsuya glance towards the receptionist, who offers no returning stare. Quietly, they stand behind Jun. The weight on Tatsuya’s shoulder is strong, and he lowers the bag to the floor when the elevator opens, tile polished and mirrored on all flanks. Music plays - Tatsuya notes he thought elevator music was a myth. It’s something better to focus on.

"The Father will be present," Jun says, the cold edge to his words softening in the elevator’s solace. "I don’t have to tell you, but—please do not engage in conversation with him. Asking him questions will not get you answers."

"That’s hardly fair," Maya protests, but Jun looks at her sadly.

"I know—I understand." He leans against the steel rail, his black hair mirrored in all angles by the walls of the elevator. "But unless you wish to remain his philosophical hostage, you should not talk with him for long."

Maya frowns. "There was something I was talking about with that girl-"

The door opens. A masked man with a yellow kerchief stands by the door, and Maya jumps in her skin.

"We’ve been waiting for you," Prince Taurus says, with a dry voice with little inflection buried beneath the mask. Tatsuya tries to look into the eyes, but the black fabric within the sockets obscure any stare. Still - he knows it’d be cold, colder than the lights above him. "The Queen requests you, Kurosu. Get to her. You two are to follow me.”

Tatsuya notices Jun closes one of his fists, exhaling through his nose. He stands straighter, and walks out of the elevator, walking away from the masked prince and his evening’s accomplices. "Thank you, Prince Taurus."

“Yeah." Terse and sharp, Prince Taurus doesn’t look in Jun’s direction, and then, immediately, beckons the remaining two to follow. "This way. How much in the bag?"

Tatsuya looks to the bag hanging on his shoulder, shifting it uncomfortably. "I didn’t count. We were pressed for time."

"Sure. Should be twenty grand in there. If there isn’t—I guess you’ll be hearing from us again." Prince Taurus doesn’t turn his head back—his thick black hair sticks out from under his mask’s straps at all angles, unkempt despite his formal front appearance. He is a black spot on the white colour of the penthouse, white walls and furniture veined with gold polish—Tatsuya realizes he never wants to see the kind of man the prince must be outside of the cult. He doesn’t know why he makes this assertion—perhaps it’s just the tone of voice he’s using.

The door, with its golden handle, is otherwise not too different from any other door in the hallway. Behind it is a room of similar white and gold, but at one of the desks sits the familiar, eerie mask of King Leo, with Lady Aquarius standing vigilant at his side, a black tablet in her hands. Her eyes, obscured by the mask, seem to remain fixated on the tablet before her, disinterested in the penthouse’s guests. The King’s own eyes roam over Tatsuya and Maya, and his expression beneath the mask is indiscernible.

"Everything seems to be in order," King Leo remarks, "Not a sound has come from that rat of a man since your departure. And I see that you brought what was required."

Tatsuya shrugs the bag off his shoulder, gripping it tight as it hangs at his side. The swell of cash inside weighs it down heavy, but with a gesture from King Leo, Lady Aquarius walks forward and holds out her hand, and then takes the bag from Tatsuya effortlessly. She brings it back to where she once stood, resting it against the desk. Tatsuya watches, and finds he dislikes her presence, silent as she may be. "There were no problems inside."

"I suspected as much. Jun’s presence neutralized the situation.” King Leo rests his arms on the table, a broad hand supporting his chin. Tatsuya stares at the flat top of the desk, avoiding the burning eyes searing into him. “Tell me—was it complicated?"

"The job?"

"Yes." He can see the mask look at him, lift its face, watching him with more interest. Tatsuya shifts the weight on his feet. "I refer to the effort placed. Your work ethic—moral ethic."

Tatsuya can see Maya move out of the corner of his eye—perhaps shifting her posture as well, perhaps biting back whatever it is that sits on her tongue. She lifts her head, and closes her fists, resting her hands behind her back.

"It wasn’t a problem," she says, the ice in her voice nothing more than a helpless appeal. It doesn’t sit—it’s a lie that spills out of her, but the call to duty has already past. "I just hope that will satisfy you enough to give us our friends back."

A quiet laugh, under the King’s breath, already spills from the mask before Maya finishes speaking. Her jawline tenses when King Leo clasps his hands together, and leans forward. He looks at Maya, and then he looks at Tatsuya—the silence hits like a heavy hand to your chest. Then, he speaks.

"All in due time, Maya Amano." King Leo gestures behind them, towards the door. "Prince Taurus will explain your next mission as he sees you out."

Tatsuya says nothing. Maya takes his hand to guide him out when his stare grows harder, and the door’s shut makes his shoulders tense. Prince Taurus stands not too far from a door, pressing his phone to his ear. He looks in Tatsuya’s direction, and he can almost tell the man behind the mask rolls his eyes before hanging up on the poor soul on the other end.

“Done already? Fine by me. Get moving." He pushes himself off the wall, and doesn’t watch if the two follow.

"The King said we would hear about our next mission from you,” Maya says, and the man sighs.

"‘Course he did. You’re coming with me this Sunday. We’re going to Charge Island to make some purchases with a seller I’ve been talking to." He only looks back when he presses the button on the elevator. "You’ll be handling the money. A lot less action this time around."

"What’s the product?" Tatsuya asks, and Prince Taurus grunts some kind of laugh.

"You’re not important enough to know about that kind of information, _kid."_ Prince Taurus steps into the elevator once the steel doors open. "I don’t want to hold your hand and show you how to get in an elevator. Move it."

* * *

The ride is silent. The street, doubly so, when Maya and Tatsuya are left at the curbside by the masked individual driving the sleet black car. They drive off without a departing goodbye, and Maya is the first to turn her head. Tatsuya doesn’t move beneath the streetlight’s glow, looking up at the length of Lisa’s apartment building. Maya stares at him, over his profile, over his jacket, and reaches a hand forward. He immediately flinches away from her and begins to walk forward, up the path towards the warmly coloured door.

“Tatsuya—” Maya follows, reaching out to grab him and slow his long steps, pulling him back. “Slow down. Are you alright?"

"I don’t want to talk about it," he replies, terse. "Those people infuriate me too. There. We don’t have to talk about it."

"I’m not talking about them. I don’t want to talk about them either.” Maya grabs the door before Tatsuya can, holding herself in place and looking directly into his eye until he watches her. Tatsuya’s stare is cold, and Maya’s is furrowed by her brows, and keeps her stern eye watchful. "I’m asking if you’re alright. If you’re feeling well."

"Why wouldn’t I be?"

"I heard those gunshots,” she replies, and Tatsuya presses his teeth together. "I couldn’t ask with Jun there. Did you get hurt? Was there a fight?"

"No," he says, flatly. "There wasn’t. It—was a threat. No one got hurt."

Maya keeps her eye on his and doesn’t let him open the door. Tatsuya watches her, wary, and feels the lie leave his mouth and not feel right. "Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes, Maya. I am."

She lingers, and then opens the door. "Fine. I believe you."

The elevator to Lisa’s apartment is short, but it feels far longer, like he’s being drawn up hundreds of stairs, when Maya sits on the opposite end of the chamber and stares at the corner where the decorative wooden panels don’t touch, not watching Tatsuya. His eyes remain fixated on the floor number crawling up, avoiding Maya’s posture, vacant eye, and absolute silence. He leans back against the wall, unblinking, and lingers when the door opens. Maya stands in the door and looks back to get his attention, and it’s the only glance she shares with him as they walk to Lisa’s door and wait for her to open.

When she does, she is in only a bra and sweatpants, her long hair pulled up. "Where the hell have you two been?"

"Work," Maya replies for Tatsuya, who stares past Lisa as he walks in. "Is—it alright if I come in, Lisa?"

"Sure," she says, looking away with a hesitant look in her eye. "Uh—do you want…tea? I don’t drink it, it’s Tatsuya’s, but—you know, if he lets you—"

"Do whatever you want with it," Tatsuya replies, walking towards the couch facing the window and sitting down. Maya watches him, and she moves inside, stepping out of her shoes uncertainly. Lisa looks at Maya with an incredulous glance, a question begging to be asked dancing on the tip of her tongue. She guides Maya towards the kitchen area, and gestures to the pot before walking in front of Tatsuya’s vacant stare.

"What happened tonight?" she asks, "Surely Kei’s not working you to the bone, is he?"

Tatsuya closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Lisa. "I don’t want to talk about it, Lisa."

"You never want to talk about anything,” she says, rolling her eyes, and it’s enough to make Tatsuya get back on his feet and walk away. “Where the hell are you going?”

"Back out," Tatsuya replies, sharp tongued. “Don’t follow me."

The door is not heavy, but it slams like it is, a sharp sound of wood meeting metal. Maya winces when it hits the frame, and she looks at Lisa with an uncertain glance.

“Guess it is that soulless,” Lisa murmurs, scratching the flank of her cheek.

“A little," Maya says, and the lie doesn’t sound right coming from her.

* * *

Tatsuya has his lighter pressed to the cigarette long before he exits the front doors, the rush of night’s cold air running over him when they swing open. He glares forward at nothing in particular, as he draws in a deep breath of autumn night and heavy nicotine. Inside his skull throbs a headache, and i lingers long enough in his temples to tell him it’s the burden of stress. Stress brought on by no one else but his own punishment, but that’s in the footnotes of everything he’s been getting into recently.

There is a bus stop not too far from where he lingers, far fro the apartment’s entrance. He sits himself on the bench inside, the smoke of his cigarette lingering in the enclosed space of dirty glass and an advertisement panel with the advertisement in question ripped away and left with an old white sheet. Tatsuya leans himself back against the glass, running his hand against his mouth to pull away the cigarette. The street is silent. Distantly, a vehicle drives down another street, and disappears.

Reflection is never something he wants to favour. Self-awareness has already burned deep into him, and it doesn’t tell him anything new, or guides him another way. Instead of thinking, instead of gazing too far into his own head—Tatsuya pulls out his wallet, and takes out the dollar bill that found its home within.

The number is smudged, from fresh ink on a note hastily taken when Jun’s coy smirk disappeared after turning his head back in the car. But he can still read it. It takes him a lingering moment before he pulls out his phone and punches in the number to the messaging app.

_hey. it’s tatsuya. is this jun?_

Time passes. Another car drives past, this time on the street in front of Tatsuya. The bus stop becomes the home of a fly, and it sits itself on the glass. Then, there is a response.

_Tatsuya? Thank you for writing ♡. I won’t be able to talk for long - but thank you for saying hello._

Tatsuya glances away from his phone for a moment. He isn’t sure why.

_yeah. thanks for giving me your number. did you want to tell me something?_

_No - I only wanted your future company, if you are ever available._

Oh.

_oh. sure. let me know when you’re free._

Tatsuya reaches for the cigarette, but ends up nudging it out of his mouth and dropping it down between his legs and to the concrete sidewalk. It’s better than self-reflection—but he doesn’t know if it sits right. Maybe it’s the apprehension towards anything these days starting to creep up on him. Or maybe he just hasn’t gone out with anyone in a couple of years.

_My mother needs me for something. Enjoy your night, Tatsuya. Thank you for responding._

He opens the message to clear the notification, but finds himself lingering. He reads over the short conversation as he rises, and exits the bus stop to walk back into the building.

* * *

 

Maya stirs her tea with an oversized spoon that makes dull, unceremonious sounds when it clatters against the curve of her mug. Lisa occupies herself with a thick, vitamin-infused drink in a water bottle she’s probably been drinking out of all day.

“Do you work together now?” Lisa asks, and Maya glances up from her tea.

“Tatsuya and I?”

“Yeah. You said you were at work.” Lisa leans herself back against the counter across from Maya, looking up at her ceiling. “I don’t really care about Nanjo-this or Nanjo-that, but is it tough?”

Maya scratches her cheek. “A little. It’s—not desk work. Errands.”

“Can’t imagine what kind of things Kei Nanjo would have you do for him.”

It’s obviously a probe trying to dig a little deeper. Maya occupies herself by taking a sip of sweetened tea instead before saying, “You’d be surprised.”

Lisa looks over at Maya, and pushes herself off the counter. “So... how did you two meet, again? I kind of—made a whole assumption about it, and—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Maya interrupts, waving it off. She takes another sip before placing the tea back down. “Well... we met a few years ago. I was a year into my writing degree when he started studying to work in law enforcement.”

“When did you stop talking?”

“It wasn’t intentional. He just went off to the training while ai moves back home for my reporter opportunity.” Maya looks over at Lisa, a sweet smile dancing across her lips. “He didn’t tell me a lot about his friends back here. I think he was unsure about how busy you would be.”

Lisa frowns. “Why would he think that?”

“He told me about your modelling career starting when he left.” Maya reaches for her cup. “Maybe you’d get a lot more famous and he wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

“Tatsuya knows I’d always make time for him,” Lisa says, crossing her arms with the touch of frustration. “I wouldn’t just forget about him.”

“What’s it like, being a model?” Maya asks, turning her body to rest her hip on the counter instead. It catches Lisa like a spotlight can, and she sheepishly glances away, her shoulders relaxing.

“It’s—tough. I mostly just do sports things. But it’s still hard.” Lisa keeps her eyes out the window, too nervous to glance back. “I like it a lot. I prefer just working out and getting more fit than any cameras or special diet crap. I might drop it for professional sports.”

“My best friend’s your instructor. She thinks you’re fantastic.” Maya can feel her heart sting when she speaks—but it’s the truth, and it makes Lisa look back over with a smile.

“I think you’re just saying that.”

“What if I was? I don’t think trying to make someone feel good about themselves is a bad thing!”

Maya’s smile makes Lisa brighten even more. “I never said it was! It’s—just nice of you to say that.”

Lisa’s smile is bright like the afternoon sun until she catches her reflection in the closet mirror door, and then a bright crimson suddenly threatens to swallow her face whole.

“—Oh my god. I’m still in my bra. I’m so sorry—”

It makes Maya laugh. “What’s there to be sorry about? They’re nice. I’ve got them too.”

It doesn’t take away the pink blossoming over her. In fact, it might make it worse. Maya notices, and her laugh remains. “I guess—alright, okay, yeah, I guess. You do. Jesus.”

“Don't be shy,” Maya teases, “I can tell you were just winding down.”

Lisa folds her arms again, covering her chest shyly. She keeps her head up, watching Maya. “I miss walking around like this, you know—because, you know. Having a guy for a guest.”

“Maybe you’re due for a couple more girls as guests,” she replies, with a playful wink. There’s a knock on the door, and Lisa takes advantage of hurriedly running over and ducking her head down. 

“Maybe,” she mutters, and opens the door to Tatsuya, who walks past her with a half-murmured greeting under his breath. She turns to follow him with her eyes, leaning forward and closing the door. Once again, Tatsuya takes a seat on the couch, staring out the open window. In the kitchen area—Maya looks at Lisa.

“How about you show me what it was you were saying, Lisa?” Maya suddenly says, as Lisa looks at her with an incredulous, dumbfounded look. Maya gathers up her tea and pushes Lisa along, who gets the message before she trips over her own feet.

“Uh—yeah, of course, it’s in my room!” Lisa says, not at all believable, and Tatsuya rolls his eyes when the door shuts to whatever secret sharing the two women want to exchange.

Slowly, Tatsuya tips himself over and lays down on the couch, over the pillow he’s made his since he last saw his brother. Sleel lingers at the surface, and pulls him under like a vicious tide. He dreams about Katsuya sitting in a dark room, with Jun Kurosu holding a set of keys behind him, a sad smile on his beautiful features.


	27. party crashers

There is a floor in the Nanjo Tower dedicated solely for the lunch and dinners of those above the thirty-second floor. On that floor, there is a room for Kei Nanjo himself, and his chosen personnel. Tatsuya tries not to think too much about it when he takes his seat at a round table carved of rich mahogany wood. Thinking about it is going to frustrate him to immeasurable lengths, as obscene as Kei Nanjo’s decorative choices.

Kei Nanjo has a personal chef, because of course he does. He orders both men a seafood lunch without asking Tatsuya for his input. As the maître d′ fetches the order, she provides Kei with a tea that Tatsuya is sure he has every time he dines. The smile he gives the woman is strained when she offers a cup on his side of the table.

“Jun Kurosu,” Kei mutters, stirring the tea some more with a silver spoon. The handle is carved with a lion’s head. “I’ve met him plenty of times. His mother is often in attendance to events I’m at, and she brings him everywhere. You _seriously_ haven’t seen any of her movies?”

Tatsuya shrugs. The teacup pushed his way is on a saucer with a peculiar floral pattern. “I’m not much of a movie person.”

“You don’t have to be a _movie person_ to know about—” Kei stops himself with a sip from his cup, and then sighs, irritated, like Tatsuya’s struck some kind of cord in his temper. “What _ever._ Her son is fine. Crazy, but so is she.”

Tatsuya sinks his hand against his forehead. Kei ignores his chagrin and continues speaking. “He’s probably not planning anything insidious.”

“Such as?”

“Kidnapping you to sell to his family’s cult. Don’t look at me like that, everyone knows that ‘Queen’ is his mother.” Kei rolls his eyes.

Tatsuya stares at Kei over his hand, his frown now covered. “Maybe everyone who’s in a building like this knows.”

“Are you trying to— _insult me?_ For being _richer than you?”_

“No. I don’t want to argue about this.”

Kei leans back in his seat. A plate of fresh baked bread is brought to the table, placed between the two men by a faceless waiter that Tatsuya doesn’t look at. Tatsuya doesn’t move, but Kei reaches forward and takes one of the slices, leaning on the table and taking an indulgent bite. He takes his time to eat, before continuing, voice sharp and piercing through any distant gaze Tatsuya offers the rest of the empty room, filled with unoccupied tables carrying unlit candles. “Tell me about what you’re doing this weekend. For the ‘Prince’.”

“Do you know who he is?” Tatsuya asks, sitting up off the table.

“I’m afraid I don’t. I’ve heard a couple of theories, and that’s all.” Kei finishes the remaining bite of bread. The waiter returns with two large plates of assorted sashimi, decorated around the plate to match the same floral pattern. “Fleeca’s President, Hiroto Tanaka—for the record, I don’t think it’s him. He’s like a fucking rat in human form. Ginji Sasaki—he’s a record producer, maybe you’re not a _music person_ either.”

Tatsuya rolls his eyes. Kei reaches for his teacup, holding it before he drinks.

“Ideo Hazama, but I suppose you put an end to _that_ rumour.”

 _“Enough,”_ Tatsuya interrupts him sharply, dropping his fist against the table, almost like a warning. The thud makes his heart strain under the unreadable expression of Kei Nanjo, but he continues anyway. “So you don’t know who he is. Neither do I. Do you know what he does for the group?”

Kei leans back again, taking the cup with him and drinking slowly, watching Tatsuya with a terse stare, harder than before. He puts the teacup on the saucer with an unrefined clatter. “Human trafficking.”

Tatsuya’s clenched hand loosens. Kei exhales quietly.

“It’s not what he does on record, of course. Just a businessman involved in their religious practices. People go missing, he seems to be involved, is all.” Kei looks repulsed by his tea all of a sudden, and pushes it away. He seems disinterested in the lunch, too. “You understand I cannot just allow you to passively work beside him, even for a day.”

Tatsuya presses his teeth together. “I understand.”

“I have a solution to this problem, however.” Kei leans forward on the table towards Tatsuya, an open hand pressed to the surface. “You and Maya will go to your arranged meeting spot. I will have those two associates of yours—”

“They’re my friends.”

“—whatever, _friends_ of yours interrupt the affair with whatever armed response is necessary. You won’t be harmed, of course, not arrested or anything as dramatic as that. It’s to interrupt the deal.”

“You know it’s going to be a deal?”

“Of course I do. That’s all the Prince does—the Lady does weapons, he does the morally questionable shit. Narcotic sales, trafficking, whatever keeps the group affluent when they don’t get it out of their tax benefits.” Kei draws himself back, and rolls his eyes as he finishes, scoffing. _“Religious groups._ You get even _more_ of these _cults_ out west. Kirijo gets to battle it out with them, I’m sure.”

Tatsuya looks at the plates, then to Kei’s hands, musing deep. Kei seems to be as well, as he then remarks, "I'll look into who it is, too. I might be able to dig deep inside your seller."

He lifts his head, looking at Kei's eyes, illuminate with professional determination. “… Thank you for helping.”

“If I just let them tell you what to do, you’ll never see your brother again.” Kei says, with a remarkable amount of sympathy hidden beneath the surface. “And perhaps fall for their ‘masked truth’ _bullshit._ If you do, I’m going to take a hit out on you.”

There’s a very obvious implication of truth to Kei’s words, but a part of Tatsuya thinks it’s a well-intended threat.

* * *

 

Maybe it’s the same black car that drove Jun and Tatsuya to his place from the club. The seat feels familiar when Tatsuya is escorted into the back, Maya quietly smiling, tired, in the second seat.

The sun has already dipped beyond the horizon, the last stretch of light reaching from the aquatic horizon surrounding the city. Traffic is congested leading to the northern borough, but as the limousine exits the main highway into the industrial road of Charge Island, the bustle of vehicles and tired workers disappears. Light is limited, street lamps far below as the bridged road leads the vehicle to the ground. Tatsuya and Maya exchange no words, only the occasional glance over their shoulders.

The road leads to a long chain linked fence. The gate pulls open when the limousine draws close, and against the front of a large truck stands Prince Taurus, masked, in a long brown coat, surrounded by two similarly masked individuals in black suits. When the door opens for Tatsuya, he doesn’t want to get out initially. He walks behind Maya when she reaches her hand toward him. Prince Taurus has his phone out, the featureless mask illuminated with the flickering light of what Tatsuya presumes to be a video when he draws closer. The head doesn’t lift, but the Prince speaks.

“Fucking finally.” He pockets the phone, then lifts a bulky, locked briefcase by his ankles. The other two individuals leave, walking towards the other side of the truck. “Who drove you, was it some old man?”

Tatsuya presses his mouth into a fine line. “I didn’t look at who it was.”

“It probably was, if you’re late.” Prince Taurus pushes the bulky briefcase into Maya’s arms abruptly, and she nearly drops it. “This is the payment. You’re going to walk up to the seller and give them this, alright? It’s straightforward.”

Maya struggles to adjust her grip on the briefcase, and nods, uncertain but furiously. Prince Taurus grabs Tatsuya by the shoulder and pushes him forward. “Get moving, both of you. I don’t want to linger around now.”

Around the vehicle’s front, farther into the loading bay of Charge Island’s main manufacturing hub, is another large truck, its back door open with a steel ramp leading inside. A small collection of men in clothing far less refined and professional than Prince Taurus’ gather around, two inside the truck itself. There is one man with black, circular glasses spinning a gold coin between his fingers, watching the three approach his men as they begin to focus on the arrivals.

Tatsuya watches him with a deep uncertainty, and he feels Maya step closer to him. The man closes his fist around the coin, then drops his arm to his side.

“Prince Taurus—are these your new associates?”

“New recruits,” Prince Taurus clarifies, and it makes Tatsuya feel deeply ill. “They know what to do. You—get moving.”

His hand reaches Maya and it makes her jump, almost running from his heavy touch forward. She regains her composure as quickly as she lost it, lifting her head high and straightening her back. As she walks towards the taller man, Prince Taurus continues to speak next to Tatsuya, his arms crossed and, presumably, gazing into the truck. “There’s still fifteen in there, right?”

“No more, no less,” the man says, gesturing one of his associates forward to Maya. As Maya exchanges the briefcase for what seems to be a large envelope, Tatsuya looks inside the open truck himself; the night obscures the contents, but its contents appear to be large boxes. As the two men in the truck receive a thumbs up from the one with the briefcase, they take out one of the boxes, and it resembles a coffin. Tatsuya can hear a short laugh under Prince Taurus’ breath, and he wishes he was armed. Why didn’t he bring anything? Did he expect to be searched? Could he not have lied?

Maya turns around and walks back to Tatsuya’s side, her eyes down and expression something ill. Prince Taurus snatches the envelope out of her hands, muttering something that Tatsuya can’t hear. He tears the paper open almost furiously, unfolding the contents.

“A receipt?” Tatsuya asks, quietly.

“Shut up,” the Prince warns. Even with a mask obscuring his features, Tatsuya notices the way his shoulders drop in disbelief, lifting his head towards the man.

“Hold the fuck on—what is this?” he calls out, lifting the manifest. “This isn’t the right manifest. Don’t tell me you fucked it up.”

The man with the coin turns his head, reaching up to lower his glasses to peer at Prince Taurus. He lifts his glasses up short after, and then looks to the men carrying the coffins towards the masked associates, who seem to share the same guarded posture as the Prince. Prince Taurus’ response is to draw his own weapon, a pistol whose safety is immediately snapped off, firing a bullet towards one of the workers. The man drops with a violent shriek, his partner dropping the box to grab the man and his bleeding bicep. The coffin crashes to the ground, wood splintering.

Some of the men draw their own weapons, but don’t fire. The man with the coin doesn’t react until Prince Taurus speaks again.

“Answer me!” he demands, hand straining on the gun. His other hand holds up the folded piece of paper. “This is some shipping manifest for a fucking _grocery!_ Do you realize how much that’s going to fuck with my backlog?! Do you _know_ how easy it’ll be to trace this back to both of us?!”

“Prince Taurus,” the man with the coin calls out, “Do you know what’s in those coffins?”

* * *

 

The roar of the Kuruma cuts through the remaining traffic. Eriko’s eyes remain fixed on the road, leaning herself forward so close she might just lay herself atop the wheel and slam on the horn and brighten the light already taking over her eyes. Naoya’s arm is raised to grip the handle above his seat, and he can feel Reiji’s own hands grip the shoulders of his seat.

“We’re going to be late,” she says, curiously breathless. “I hope nothing has happened.”

“Is Nanjo _actually_ allowed to make arrests?” he asks, uneasy.

“No. Think of this as the cavalry,” Eriko replies, soon with that energy that’s been lingering under the surface. Her turn into the exit is sharp, knocking Naoya and Reiji into the door. Her smile is bright when she glances into the rear window, where larger vehicles trail close behind them. “Tatsuya’s going to be safe. Maya too. It’s like party crashing!”

“If shady deals are your idea of a party,” Reiji says from the backseat.

“From what I hear about your record, mister Kido, you’re a regular at those kinds of parties,” Eriko chirps in response, and Naoya doesn’t look back—but he knows Reiji is glaring at her.

The vehicle turns sharp, its wheels scraping the asphalt. Eriko slams the heel of her hand into a button on the dashboard, and sirens that resemble those of the police suddenly rip through the air outside the car. Naoya’s shoulders tense before he can remember, and with a call of _“Brace yourselves!”_ the Kuruma slams into the large chain link fence surrounding a loading platform, driving across the concrete and into the side of one of the trucks.

Naoya sees Tatsuya and Maya right before the crash. They leap out of the way of the oncoming vehicle with another individual, running across the clearing as larger vehicles with sirens similar to Eriko’s swarm behind them. Naoya slams forward and braces to slam into the dashboard, but the tight seatbelt around his chest holds him back from the oncoming trauma. Without any detriment to speed, Eriko reverses the car and pulls free from the wheel of the larger truck, its armoured plating merely scratched. The fender of the truck has seen much better days.

He can hear Reiji violent curse behind him, and the sound of an unbuckled seatbelt as he struggles with the locked door. Eriko reaches behind and strikes his hand, and warns him—”What are you doing?! They’re fighting out there now!”

“What if your Nanjo _army_ kills Tatsuya?!” Reiji snaps back, pushing her hand away when she tries to grab him after the strike.

“They’re not! They’ve been _specifically_ ordered to let those two get away!”

“What about the Masked Circle guy?!” Naoya asks, and Eriko looks at him, face flushed and adrenaline in her blood. “Have they been told to just let him go, too?! This is a chance to take one of them out!”

“They’re _looking_ for him,” she quickly says, a hand returning to the steering wheel. “You don’t think that’s one of the plans? If he dies out there—that’s good. But we don’t know if that happens. We’re meant to stop those people from being sold.”

The back door opens. Eriko’s eyes widen in horrific fear as Reiji pushes open the scraped door of the Kuruma, the hood of his jacket pulled up and his gun in his hand. Loud, harsh gunfire rips through the car, a deafening stream of bullets at Reiji aims into the loading bay of Charge Island’s industrial port. Naoya pushes open his door and grabs Reiji, pulling him to the ground and behind the car.

“Stay in the _fucking_ car, Reiji!!” Naoya screams, pinning Reiji’s wrist to the concrete, the gun warm.

“I hit him,” Reiji says, looking up at the top of the car, like he can still see over it. “The masked fuck. He’s running with Tatsuya and the girl.”

Naoya pushes him back into the car, joining him in the back seat. His vision remains dizzy from the impact, but he looks at Reiji with wide eyes, stunned to silence. Eriko leans over the passenger seat to close the door, remaining low as a bullet bounces off the proofed windshield.

“Stay low,” she warns them, “Look like we died in the crash or something. And _close the goddamn door!”_

* * *

 

“Fuck, fucking, fucker!!” Prince Taurus hisses violently into his mask, curses thick with spit. He leans on Tatsuya as the three run through industrial steel and stacked pallets of concrete, with little light guiding them to a distant road. “Get me to my fucking car!”

“Stop thrashing and I can,” Tatsuya snaps, dragging him along as his right shoulder bleeds deep into his brown jacket.

“That fucker—whoever shot me, I’ll kill him,” he raves, as Maya opens a fence gate and holds it for the two men. “I’ll hunt him down myself—I can do that, you know, I can find whoever I want in this godforsaken city—”

“Get in the car,” Tatsuya warns, and the Prince elbows him off with his good arm, reaching for his keys.

“I trust you to drive my car as far as I can throw you, _Suou,”_ he responds with a vicious hiss, unlocking the car and throwing himself into the seat. _“You_ get in the car. You and your stupid girlfriend.”

With gritted teeth, Tatsuya climbs into the backseat of the open car, Maya piling in after him and slamming the door shut. They don’t have time to fasten their seat belts or arrange seats before the Prince slams his foot on the gas and they drive into the road of Charge Island, the engine roaring as the spray of gunfire echoes behind them. Prince Taurus’ breathing is sharp, a wet gasp from behind the mask. He grabs the back of the mask and pulls it off his head, throwing it into the passenger seat. In the same motion, he raises his pistol into the back of the car, his eyes still on the road. Tatsuya and Maya draw closer to one another instinctively, staring at the weapon.

“Don’t look at my face,” he warns, his aim wavering. Though the car is dark, the lights of cars that occasionally pass them on the highway light up the inside, and the metal of the gun flashes every so often. “Keep your eyes on the ground, on each other, out the window, I don’t care, just don’t look at my face or I’ll end your lives here.”

“Yes,” Maya stammers, “Yes, we—we promise, we won’t—look—”

“Shut up, you annoying _bitch,_ you only need to say it once.” The Prince’s voice is much more clearer, a deep, masculine voice slick with his own blood. Tatsuya turns his head to look out the window, away from the gun waving between him and Maya. Prince Taurus keeps cutting through each occasional car that almost crosses his path, pushing the speed limit to get them back into the city.

“That four-eyed _fuck,_ he had to be a cop,” he muses, loud enough to talk to the other two, but the weapon tells them to keep quiet. “The King’s going to be  _pissed._ We’ll have to dig for the leak. I’ll do it myself.”

Tatsuya thinks about Kei, sitting in his tower, pressing whatever button he needs to send an armed response. It’s definitely more complicated than that—but it makes it a little easier to deal with. Easier to imagine.

“Fujimori and Naito are probably dead, but we’ll get to them in the morning...” He slams a fist into the wheel of the car. _“Fuck!_ I’m leaving your sorry asses at the nearest house we’ve got, alright? I don’t care what you think about that.”

Prince Taurus keeps the gun raised in the air, barrel to the roof of the car, as he rests his arm between his seats. Maya’s hand reaches to Tatsuya’s wrist, and carefully, he turns his head to look at her, leaning towards the window. She grips on to the sleeve of his jacket with a nervous stare, and he responds by shifting their hands so his rests on top of hers. The smile she tries to give is comforted enough to tell him it’s not a lie; Tatsuya runs a thumb over her knuckles as the dark of night holds them hostage. Prince Taurus’ next turn is a violent one, and the speed he keeps doesn’t slow down until he screeches to a halt in front of a nondescript residential building. Tatsuya looks out the window hurriedly, heart full of dread as he tries to recognize where they are.

“Only get out after me,” the Prince commands, as he turns his car off and the interior lights up shortly before it becomes engulfed in absolute darkness. “Or leave. I don’t care.”  
Tatsuya spots short black hair and a square jawline before the door slams shut, and the Prince walks up the walkway to slam a fist on the front door. He can hear Maya deeply exhale, and she moves closer to Tatsuya and leans against him.

“I don’t want to go inside,” she weeps, her sigh weaving into a gasp for breath. “I don’t want to be around him.”

“He said we could go,” Tatsuya says, an arm wrapping around Maya, uncertain. “I’m not sure where we are, though.”

“That’s—that’s okay. We’re in… Broker, I think.” Maya mutters into his coat, gripping its front. “If we are… can you stay over?”

“Yukino’s not going to be upset?”

“Yukino’s moving out,” Maya confesses, and he can feel her eyes close with tears in her lashes. “She hasn’t been in the apartment in a few days. You… you can sleep in Ulala’s room. I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for—” Tatsuya tries, but Maya’s face buries into his chest, and he can feel her tears begin to well up worse against him. Tatsuya silences himself, and lingers for a moment with Maya in the back seat, before he opens the door and allows the cool of night to sweep in. “Hurry. Before he comes outside.”

Maya crawls out of the car behind him, and immediately Tatsuya pulls her into his arms, her face resting on his shoulders as she bites back a sob in her chest. She’s taller than him; he always knew, but it becomes such a small detail when he holds her, his hand in her hair like he’s trying to shelter her from whatever is in the house behind them. The strain of guilt holds itself in his chest, a grip over his heart, but he keeps it silent as he leads Maya away from the car, down an unfamiliar street as they roam into the city’s night.


	28. the prince and his lover

Ulala’s bed is too plush for Tatsuya’s comfort, having grown accustomed to the stiff leather of Lisa’s long couch in her apartment’s living area. And even if he were still at home, with his brother down the hall and his door locked shut, his own bed is more firm, and resembles nothing like where Ulala once slept. Waking in her bedroom feels wrong, even with his body facing the wall and his face buried in the colourful pillows stacked high on the comforter.

He slept in the clothes Maya brought him home in. His jacket is the only thing he removed, hanging over the back of a bright red plastic swivel chair in front of an equally as colourful desk that was _certainly_ painted to be such an _atrociously_ bright colour. He sits up, his clothes stiff and straining over his body, and he only allows himself a moment to stretch before, hurriedly, leaving the room, jacket in his arms. It feels wrong. Like sleeping at a crime scene

Maya is stirring a cup of tea into a travel mug in the kitchen when he walks out. He sits on the same square of couch Yukino did weeks ago, and Maya turns her head.

“Morning,” she says, her voice more neutral, less drained with sadness. “Did you sleep well?”

“As best as I could,” Tatsuya admits, resting his arms on his knees and staring forward, past the television and out the window. Quietly, a radio plays in the kitchen, a devilishly smooth voice lingering under their conversation. “ Thank you for letting me stay.”

“I hope it was better than sleeping on a couch,” Maya says, sheepish. “I have to go to work soon. I can drive you into the city and drop you off at a bus stop, if you want.”

Tatsuya leans back on the couch. “Sure. I’m alright with that.”

Maya walks towards him, and holds out a bottle of water. Her smile is bright, if lingering with sympathy. Still, Tatsuya finds himself returning a smile of his own, though it lingers for only a moment. She offers a hand and he takes it, pulling him up to his feet. Tatsuya pulls his jacket over his shoulders as Maya steps into her shoes, and they walk out of the apartment, Tatsuya looking out the nearby window to the street below as Maya digs for her keys.

“Lisa’s been well?” Maya asks. Tatsuya realizes she’s asking it to him.

“Yeah. I don’t think she likes I go out late.”

“She doesn’t know you’re working for this King Leo, does she?”

“She thinks it’s still Nanjo, so no.”

Maya pockets her keys in her denim jacket, and walks with Tatsuya to the elevator. A comfortable silence rolls over them both as the steel doors shut, the kind that settles between a conversation’s end. Maya speaks again, soon enough. “You should tell her. At least when you’re out late. She’s probably worried.”

“I think she’s more worried I’m not still into her,” Tatsuya mutters, leaning against the wall of the elevator.

Maya frowns. “You two are together?”

“It was _very_ short,” Tatsuya sighs, running a hand through his hair. No hairbrush. His fingers get caught in the many knots of sleep. “I think she’s still interested, is all.”

“I see.”

“I’m not, though.”

“You aren’t?”

“I have more things on my mind right now.”

Maya doesn’t say anything. The elevator opens. The cool of the underground rolls into the elevator, and Maya leas Tatsuya to her car. He breathes in deep the scent of gasoline and asphalt, then settles into a dark car of cinnamon and herbal tea. Maya sets her seatbelt as Tatsuya continues to brush his hair with his hand.

They don’t have much more conversation as she backs them out of the parking space. The radio turns on, to a 1980s electronic mix station with the same host as the radio in the apartment. An energized voice sings the final refrain of the song before leading into the script of their early morning music station. Maya turns the nonsense down until the next song starts. Tatsuya still doesn’t recognize the radio station.

“I have a question,” she starts, tentative, when the car waits beneath one of the overhead train tracks at a stoplight. “Please don’t get mad at me for it.”

“Shoot.”

“With the… situation, do you think you might return to your old apartment?”

Tatsuya finds himself looking out the window at the stalled traffic, the streets ahead that lead into the Algonquin Bridge. He recognizes some of the sidewalk curves and curbs to be the same street Katsuya brought him down when driving home from the airport. “I don’t know, honestly,” he admits, leaning his head against the window. “I would, but I don’t think work knows where I am.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Tatsuya sighs. “I don’t know if they want to question me about my brother’s disappearance or not. I haven’t gotten a call to come in.”

“So you don’t want to cause a scene by going back.”

“Has anyone at _your_ work been talking about it?”

Maya frowns. The car starts to move again, and Tatsuya finds himself looking at her instead of the myriad of buildings. “No. Nobody’s been asking questions or looking into it, from what I know. I don’t think anyone has even realized it’s happened.”

Tatsuya watches her in a silence he doesn’t want to break. Maya’s brow furrows and she frowns a little deeper, and she continues. “Do you think they’ve got a hold on someone in the LCPD?”

“The Circle?”

“Yes, the Circle. If no one is talking about your brother…” It’s Maya’s turn to scratch her head, and she leans forward on the wheel when she stops in the traffic of the Algonquin Bridge, hand in her hair and messing up her brushed black hair. _“Damn it._ Whoever it is probably is telling your coworkers not to bring it to the public. It’s a miracle that article even got published a few weeks ago. Isn’t your family worried?”

“My father is in San Andreas,” Tatsuya replies - vaguely.

“I’m sick of these people,” Maya curses, gripping the wheel with a frustrated grunt once the car starts to move. “This _stupid traffic_ — and the Circle. They’re terrible people.”

“I know, Maya.”

“I’m going to call Kei. I’m going to ask him if he has any plan to put a stop to this.” Maya looks at Tatsuya, her eyes remarkably vicious, burnt on her own frustration. “You do that too, Tatsuya. And tell him if he’s still ‘thinking’ about what to do, I’ll do something myself.”

Tatsuya’s gaze lingers on her before he nods. The radio consumes the car and the silence swells once more. The radio host laughs at his own joke, but both Maya and Tatsuya focus on the road.

* * *

Tatsuya doesn’t spend much time in the apartment when the bus pulls to its stop in front of it. He brushes his hair, his teeth, and changes his clothes. Lisa has long since left, and Tatsuya decides to as well. Once more, he lingers in the bus stop’s shelter, phone in his hand and scrolling through the various screens and applications stored inside

Five texts from Lisa, one a question of where he is from last night, the four remaining various question mark messages of varying lengths. He has since replied he’s alive. A good morning text from Naoya, asking if things were alright. The same good morning text from Masao. His conversation with Jun from several nights ago.

Tatsuya opens the messaging history. Jun’s contact information is a circle with the default initials of his contact’s name, and it is the only one of that kind—all the other people in his phone, crammed into the contact book, sit with pictures. Tatsuya takes out a cigarette, one he’s been longing for, and lights it, pointedly ignoring the ‘no-smoking’ sticker pressed to the glass. At the same time, he presses on the contact window for Jun, and dials the number.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing until Jun answers. When he hears a curious _“Kurosu speaking,”_ the cigarette almost drops out of his mouth.

“Hey,” Tatsuya says, flat and uncertain. “It’s—Tatsuya.”

 _“Oh! Good morning, Tatsuya!”_ Jun’s voice leaps to a much higher, lighter volume, like sunshine being let through open blinds. “I apologize for my formality. How are you? Is your morning well?”

“It’s—I’m alright,” Tatsuya takes the cigarette out of his mouth, like the smell of smoke is going to reach to Jun, wherever he is in the city. Maybe he’s at the mansion. Maybe he’s at an entirely different estate. “I was wondering—if you wanted to go somewhere. Lunch, if you’ve already eaten.

The silence is long enough that Tatsuya makes him feel the swelling suspicion he shouldn’t have called. But Jun speaks— _“That would be wonderful, Tatsuya. Thank you. Do you have anywhere in mind?”_

“I can come pick you up,” Tatsuya says quickly, without realizing it.

 _“Oh—thank you, but I can make my own way. It would be—a lot safer,”_ Jun says, and Tatsuya can imagine him pressing a hand to his mouth in meek surprise, or perhaps pull on the cord of the telephone he’s been curling between his fingers. Which he wouldn’t be. He’s on a cellphone. Tatsuya can imagine him doing that. _“Is there a place you have in mind?”_

However, Tatsuya had hoped he could plan this—date—on the ride over. With a rather awkward, heavy pause, Tatsuya stares dumbly at the bus drive past him before speaking. “There’s a diner. On Frankfort. It’s called 60 Diner. If you’re interested—”

 _“Of course I am,”_ Jun says, earnest. “I’ll meet you there. Thank you again for the offer—it’ll be nice to get out of the house.”

Tatsuya thinks he’s smiling. His hand covers his mouth to take the cigarette, and he can feel it. “You’re welcome. I’ll—I’ll see you there.”

Jun already said ‘see you there’. Tatsuya thinks about that as he makes his way to his motorcycle, in the furthest corner of the parking area. For once, something that repeats in his mind is not a burden of reality, nor an action that drags him to vicious darkness. He leaves his cigarette on the pavement when he puts his helmet on, stomping out the glowing embers.

* * *

The steel, trailer-shaped exterior of the 60 Diner and its worn, plastic red seats of the interior clashes terrifically with Jun’s outfit.

He wears a long, loose sleeved shirt with crochet lace from his elbow to shoulders; his glasses are thick and circular, and his jeans, though simple and torn over the knee in such a way that it was most certainly designed to be intentional, are a stark blue, washed with care and mindfulness to not wear them away. Jun’s outfit may cost more than his motorcycle outside. With his helmet under his arm, Tatsuya tries to slip into the seat across Jun in the booth, but Jun is on his feet before he can and throws his arms around Tatsuya in a warm hug.

“Good morning!” Jun chirps in his ear, breaking from his greeting as quickly as he pulled himself against Tatsuya. He holds Tatsuya by his shoulders, and pulls his sunglasses up to rest on his forehead. “I hope your ride was enjoyable. I was surprised at the amount of traffic, myself.”

Tatsuya’s shoulders relax from the initial shock, and finally sits himself down when Jun does as well. He keeps staring at Jun. The helmet is discarded on the seat, over a large rip in the seat covered by silver duct tape. As Jun takes the sunglasses off and slips them into a leather case made for glasses, Tatsuya leans his elbows on the table, and remembers he’s still wearing his biking jacket.

“Thank you,” he says, because it’s all he thinks he should say. The diner is quiet, even at the peak of breakfast hours—perhaps today is the day people have chosen to stray away from where Tatsuya will be, allowing him silence and peace. And the company of someone he’s chosen to be with, but this is a special occasion. He thinks about how often he’s had a meal without Lisa present recently, but pushes it to the back of his mind when Jun speaks again.

“Do you come here often?” Jun leans on the back of his hand, with a gentle—if coy—smile curled on his lips.

“Not recently,” Tatsuya admits, picking up a laminated menu to keep his eyes somewhere else. “It’s—good, though. Mostly breakfast things. Unless you’re up for something different.”

“This is perfectly fine,” Jun reassures him, pulling over his own menu and looking at its options. “I haven’t had the chance to go anywhere recently, myself. My mother is always asking for my help.”

“Tatsuya finds himself nodding. “Is that normal, or have things been busier?”

“Hard to tell,” Jun admits, drumming his fingers on the table surface. “But it’s why I declined your offer for a ride here. I wouldn’t want to… complicate your relationship with my family any further.”

“That—yeah, that makes sense.”

Jun smiles, with his eyes trailing over to where the bike helmet sits. “It would be fun to ride on a motorcycle, however. I didn’t know that’s how you got around.”

Tatsuya smiles. “I’ve rode one since I was in high school. I prefer them to cars.”

“It looks liberating,” Jun muses, leading his eyes back to Tatsuya and winking. Tatsuya finds it a merciful interrupted to be asked by an older waiter what they’d like, and Jun, with an airy and light voice, orders an indulgent breakfast platter. Tatsuya realizes he hasn’t decided— “Coffee, for now.”

When they’re given privacy, Tatsuya returns to looking at Jun, who in turn, has had his eyes on him all this time.

“My mother dislikes them,” he says, tracing shapes against the table once more. “She claims they’re dangerous.”

“Most people think that,” Tatsuya replies, with a half-hearted shrug. “They usually have never been on one.”

“She hasn’t, you’re right,” Jun says with a grin. The waiter returns and puts the cup of coffee on the table, and gives Jun his glass of water, an unevenly sliced lemon sliding off the glass and into his drink. Jun unwraps a bendy straw, and places it in. “What else do you do?”

“I’m an assistant—” Kei doesn’t like the Kurosu family. The Kurosu family might want him dead. Remembering this makes Tatsuya think of himself suddenly among the squabbles and hypocrisy of the financial elite in the city, caught between rivalries and old, bad blood. “—at the United Liberty Paper.”

Jun raises his brow, a smile spreading over him once more. “Do you write in the papers?”

“No, that’s Maya,” Tatsuya says, with deep relief. “I only do office work.”

“I would love to read the things you could write,” Jun muses, stirring his drink with his straw. Tatsuya smiles something sheepish, running a hand through his hair with a touch of nervousness as he glances out one of the high windows next to their booth. The bored waiter brings Jun a small plate of square toast, who then pulls it between himself and Tatsuya, offering him the second slice. Gingerly, Tatsuya takes the warm, just-buttered bread.

“Do you do anything?” Tatsuya asks, leaning forward on the table. “Besides things for your family.”

Jun looks out the window resting his chin on his hand. “Truthfully, I don’t do much. I suppose you could consider me a socialite of the city, but I don’t enjoy the _parties_ and all the _gossip.”_

Tatsuya lowers his head, just for a moment—Jun continues. “Though, I _also_ suppose that it’s more preferred to the work my family does.”

When Jun sighs, that’s when Tatsuya frowns. “Do your parents force you to?”

“My mother is very insistent on my duties,” Jun laments, “The Father is, as well.”

 _“The_ Father, or _your_ father?”

Jun’s expression has slowly begun to fall; now, his mouth lingers on a frown, and he looks at Tatsuya. He brushes his bangs out of his face. “My father is Akinari Kashihara. You met him at your first meeting with my mother and the Father, but he was not the King you spoke to.” He leans forward, for even though the diner is lifeless, their voices carry—so Jun dips his voice to a careful whisper. “He was Lord Virgo. You haven’t done work for him. He is strictly financial.”

“You don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to,” Tatsuya says, “If it’ll get you in trouble—”

“I’ll already be in trouble just spending a day with you,” Jun admits sadly, “I know you are not a willing associate of my family, Tatsuya. That alone makes them distrust you and your intentions.”

“Do they know you’re out?”

“Yes, just not who I am with.” Jun leans back as his meal arrives—he gives the begrudging waiter a bright, if transparent smile, and his melancholy seems cured for just a moment when he looks down at the delicious spread of fluffy pancakes and crispy home fries. “Though… I do like this restaurant. I don’t believe anyone I know would come here.”

“Even though we’re on the Star Junction?”

“Most of my family’s friends would be going to the clubs and restaurants on the Junction,” Jun says, pushing his plate closer to the centre of the table. Tatsuya realizes what he’s doing when he lifts the napkin wrapped cutler on Tatsuya’s side of the table, and gives him his fork. “I don’t think much of them would give a second look to this kind of place.”

Jun picks up one of the fries with his fork, and puts it in his mouth. “Which is a good thing.”

Tatsuya watches him. He eats like anyone else, of course—but the charm of Jun seems to come from the quiet smiles slipped into each word and the way he adjusts his hair from his face. Jun cuts a quarter of the pancake stack for Tatsuya to pick from, which he does, heartily. When Tatsuya looks at Jun, he gives Tatsuya a beautiful smile, and it compels Tatsuya to return it—genuinely.

“Are you free for the rest of the day?” Tatsuya asks.

Jun tilts his head. “Are you asking to spend more time with me?”

“Of course I am.”

Jun’s smile, sweet and serene, curls a little more coy, and he chuckles lowly. “Then, yes, I am free to spend time with you.”

He pushes his fork into one of the cut squares of the pancake stack, lifting it up off the plate. Thick maple syrup drips to the plate, and with a napkin in his other hand to catch any more, Jun leans forward towards Tatsuya. Tatsuya realizes with wide eyes and a rush of warmth up his neck, but opens his mouth and allows Jun to give him his bite, all while the boy across from him laughs, light and airy.

* * *

It’s windy, even among the intimidating towers and buildings of Star Junction shadowing them from the sun over its main road. Jun holds his hair to his head, even without a hat, and Tatsuya almost wants to laugh.

“Where do you want to go?” Tatsuya asks, starting his walk into the main street. “I’m not too familiar with shopping—”

“Oh, I don’t want to shop,” Jun admits, looking around the street. “Where did you park?”

“Around the corner of the building,” Tatsuya says, and then raises a brow. “I thought your mother disliked motorcycles.”

“My mother isn’t here right now,” Jun says, smiling wide. “Take me to Varsity Heights. It’s up north.”

Jun slips an arm around Tatsuya’s, linking them together. Tatsuya feels the warmth from before creep up his neck, like a blush waiting to happen. He doesn’t allow it, determined to remain calm. So—he keeps his head forward, leading Jun around the corner of the trailer-shaped diner, to where his motorcycle waits in the side alley, marked with a parking sign.

“I don’t have my second helmet,” Tatsuya realizes, and frowns. Then, he offers Jun the black helmet from under his other arm. “Here.”

It’s Jun’s turn to look surprised. “Are you sure? Isn’t it unsafe?”

“I’ll be fine.” It’s probably wiser not to admit he’s rode without one before. As an officer, too.

Jun pockets his sunglasses once more, slipping them into his leather case and then inside a clutch purse he hangs off his shoulder. With a bit of fumbling, Jun lifts the heavy helmet over his head. Tatsuya reaches up, and helps him ease it down, the normally sleek helmet looking far more bulky on top of Jun’s thin shoulders. Jun pushes the visor up, and his eyes wrinkle with a laugh.

“I feel ridiculous,” he admits, soft voice muffled.

“You get used to it,” Tatsuya says, with a grin. He takes a seat on the motorcycle, and as Jun settles behind him, the engine starts. Jun’s arms slip around his chest and he draws his body close, and Tatsuya’s face is probably burning red now. At least he’s behind him.

“I’m ready,” Jun says, drawing his arms up a little higher to grip his shoulders, chest pressed to Tatsuya’s back. Tatsuya takes a deep breath and kicks them off the pavement, and rides into the street. The light is green, and he turns into the main street of Star Junction, and begins their ascent up traffic and the largest road in Liberty City.

The wind becomes far more negligible once they reach a reasonable speed. Tatsuya’s hair pushes out of his face and he narrows his eyes to brace the wind, vigilant for any police cruiser that may be lingering on the street. Mercifully, there seems to be none; the road remains clear, and the liberty of riding without a helmet starts to return to him. Jun braces himself against Tatsuya, keeping himself close out of deep interest in his driver—and perhaps mild fear from the speed. He’ll get used to it. Tatsuya likes the idea of Jun getting used to it.

As Star Junction begins to filter into regular businesses, Tatsuya thinks of the road to Varsity Heights. It is an older part of the city, when houses were brownstones and the city wasn’t making apartments out of every residential building they could cram in. The streets are wide, and it is surrounded by the projects of North Holland, visible from even the furthest street of the Heights. The last time he had visited was closer to the Junction, where the condominiums are plentiful.

The road’s colour changes, where old stone meets new concrete that was paved recently. Tatsuya slows the motorcycle down, reaching a far more tamer speed, enough that he feels Jun’s tension begin to ease. He remains close to Tatsuya’s body, which he expected. What he doesn’t expect is one of Jun’s hands trailing from his shoulder, to his chest, to his stomach, resting comfortably on his belt. Tatsuya tries  _really_ hard to not think about that, because if he will, he might veer into the bumper of a parked car.

“Here,” Jun suddenly says, and Tatsuya looks to the corner of the street that Jun looks towards. “You can park in front, my father pays for it.”

This is Jun’s home. Tatsuya feels the mark of anxiety hit him again, the flush of red trying hard to take control of his face. He kicks the stand for the motorcycle at the curb, looking up at the impressive townhouse. Wrought iron, washed brick, curtains spilling out of the open windows of the second floor, Tatsuya hasn’t seen a _house_ in the main city in quite some time.

Jun removes the helmet from his head, and runs a hand through his hair. “My hair looks like a mess, doesn’t it?”

Tatsuya finds himself smiling. “You’ll get used to it.”

Jun’s smile returns, mischievous. “Come inside. It’s just my father—I want you to meet him under better circumstances.”

The door opens to a rich smell, something like warm oak and the remains of a fire. Tatsuya looks at the paintings in the foyer as he removes his shoes, some portraits of who he presumes are Kurosu family members, some beautiful landscapes painted by people he doesn’t know. The walls are a deep green with painted wood patterns sprawling over the leafy texture. When he realizes it isn’t wallpaper, he thinks he’s impressed.

“Papa?” Jun calls out, stepping out of his own shoes. “It’s me. I have a guest.”

A staircase greets you at the door—in a moment, a man appears at the top of them, and looks between Jun and Tatsuya. His eyes widen.

“Tatsuya,” the man says, walking down the stairs. “Good afternoon. I hadn’t expected I would ever get the chance to meet you.”

“Akinari,” Tatsuya says, tentative. Surprisingly, the man smiles, and Tatsuya is relieved enough to take his offered hand and shake it. “Jun invited me.”

“You’re welcome to stay—it’s just Jun and I tonight.” The smile seems to momentarily falter at the truth behind the words—but Tatsuya finds himself preferring the absence of Junko Kurosu, and her wicked green mask. “I suppose you already know who I am—Jun _certainly_ told you.”

Jun folds his arms and looks away, a pensive look on his face. “I didn’t want Tatsuya to have a poor impression of you.”

“I understand, Jun,” Akinari sighs, as constructive as he can. “Did you tell him…?”

“Lord Virgo.” Jun looks at him with a grimace on his face, like he doesn’t like saying the name. Akinari reaches a hand to Jun’s shoulder and pats him, a branch of comfort.

“It’s just Akinari,” he says, looking at Tatsuya. “I hold as much fondness for the title as Jun does. I hope you have been treated well.”

The Katsuya in his head looks over at him and frowns. “As best as it could be.”

Akinari nods his head, and retracts his hand from Jun. “Can I get you anything?”

“We just ate,” Jun says. “We’re going to be in the living room.”

“I’ll be in my office,” Akinari says, but Jun has already begun to walk into the adjacent room. Akinari looks at Tatsuya, vaguely nervous. He brushes down the red suit jacket he’s wearing. “If you… want to talk to me, about questions you have, just get Jun to call me down, okay?”

Tatsuya nods, stiffly. Akinari lingers in front of him, like he doesn’t know what to do, before walking back up the stairs, leaving Tatsuya to follow Jun into the living room.

It’s large. The walls are a similar colour and design as the foyer, and there are large sofas spread before an impressive fireplace, which in turn supports a large, flat screen television. Jun sits on the sofa directly in front of the fireplace, which is unlit. His arms remain folded and his legs are crossed. Tatsuya sits down next to him.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“Yes,” Jun replies, “I was telling myself to not get frustrated, and then I did. But… I’m fine.”

Tatsuya leans forward on his knees, looking back at Jun. “Your father doesn’t seem to like his job, if anything.”

Jun lifts his head and looks at the ceiling, the frustration lingering in his eyes. “He says that, but he doesn’t show _any_ intention in stopping.”

“Maybe it’s more complicated than just walking away.”

“He’s all talk,” Jun says, bitterness souring his words. “My mother indulges in it, he avoids it…” Suddenly, Jun looks at Tatsuya, and among all of the frustration and resentment threatening to cut through the surface, there is a touch of remorse. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t invite you over just to vent.”

“You can talk to me, Jun,” Tatsuya reassures, sitting up and leaning back on the couch. “I don’t mind.”

Jun lets his arms unfold, resting his hands in his lap. He lowers his eyes, looking towards Tatsuya’s own hands, then to the ground. “Do you remember what I told Maya in the car? How it doesn’t matter what I feel?”

Tatsuya nods.

“Because it _doesn’t._ I’ve told my mother, the Father, my father, how I feel. It’s either ignored, or…” Jun lifts his head, but seems to look through Tatsuya. “It’s wrong. It’s illegal, all of it. But I have to do it.”

“Or?”

“Or I die. Or get sent to Prince Taurus. Or my mother cuts off one of my fingers. Something. The threat always changes.” Jun’s eyes finally set on Tatsuya’s, looking as deep as he can now. “I do what I am told. You’re in the same position, aren’t you?”

Tatsuya frowns, troubled. He looks away from Jun, suddenly feeling the burn of his gaze strain his eyes. He closes them, taking a deep breath when he thinks once more on the Katsuya in his head. Jun remains silent, and looks away from Tatsuya, arms folded once more.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Jun looks over. “Of course.”

“Is my brother okay?”

Tatsuya’s voice is quiet, like a whisper through the night. He turns his head to Jun, but doesn’t look at him—a deep sadness drapes itself over him, and Jun tenses, realizing what he’s done. He reaches over to Tatsuya, touching his arm, and gives him a melancholic look.

“He is,” Jun replies, “The three of them—Katsuya, Ulala, Yuka. Yes, yes I know who they are. I promise you that your brother and the women are okay.”

Tatsuya sits up, and finds himself being led against Jun, the two of them leaning back into the sofa. Silence hits them both, and Tatsuya closes his eyes for just a moment, listening to Jun breathing against him. Jun rests his face in Tatsuya’s hair, inhaling deep, and quiet. He roams a hand to Tatsuya’s and takes it, running his thumb over his knuckles.

“I’m sorry.” Jun’s voice is quiet, enough to miss. “I’m sorry I did this.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Tatsuya replies, just as soft. “It was the Circle. Not you.” He lifts his head and sits up a little more, allowing Jun’s hand to keep his. “You said you don’t want to do it. Being forced to is different.”

The hand leaves Tatsuya’s, reaching up to his jaw and touching his cheek. Jun strokes his face with his thumb, watching Tatsuya with a mesmerized stare. “…You’re right.”

“I believe you,” Tatsuya insists, and it makes Jun smile sadly.

“Thank you.”

They linger. Jun moves. The kiss, something fleeting and built on a need and impulsive desire, from an afternoon of something that was _fun_ and _enjoyable_ and time spent between the two of them—doesn’t come. Jun is close, and his eyes are closed but Tatsuya’s are open, realizing what he’s doing, when the stairs creak in the foyer. Jun jumps in his seat, parting from Tatsuya, and looks towards the doorway, where his father just barely misses intruding.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Akinari says, sheepish, his phone in his hand. “But—Tatsuya, I was sent a message to call you.”

Tatsuya furrows his brow. “What is it?”

“The King requests your presence,” he says, walking down the stairs. At the same time, Jun shuffles away from Tatsuya, drawing his hand away. “It’s not too far. Middle Park.”

Tatsuya rises from his seat, Jun’s hands slipping off him. “Right away?”

“I’m afraid so. If you need a ride—”

“No, I’m fine.” Tatsuya look at Jun, who nods. “I’ll call you, alright?”

“Of course,” Jun says, now smiling. “Thank you again, Tatsuya.”

Tatsuya returns the smile, a touch flustered. He hurries out of the living room, mutters a goodbye to Akinari, and walks out of the house before his shoes are even fully on his feet. He can feel Akinari watching him curiously as he gets on his bike, arranges his helmet, and drives off, thinking about how warm Jun’s skin is.


	29. killing the radio star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you've been excited over these recent updates - i know i have been! we're definitely in the home stretch now, as things start to heat up. i thank you so much for reading this story up to the end, and i promise the next installment ( yes - it might be hard to believe, but this is still just part one of a three part trilogy! ) will come with just as many updates, action and drama!

The marble floors of the lobby have been polished recently. Its lustrous shine reflects a dull outline of Tatsuya as he walks along it, head lowered to avoid the seeking eyes of the Masked Circle’s workers. They lack the masks, but he sees their uniforms, and the shapes of their lapel pins. There is a woman around his age at the elevator who smiles coldly at Tatsuya, gesturing him to step inside.

“The King requires your assistance posthaste,” she says, her voice dull and icy. “He is rather furious.”

Tatsuya feels a sickness in his stomach. “Do you know why?”

“An enemy has wronged him. You will be given the full details at the penthouse.”

She doesn’t join him in the elevator. It closes shut, and leaves Tatsuya to stare at himself in the steel reflection once more, before pressing the top floor’s button. The ride is silent, and it’s different to experience. The elevator feels cramped, more than any other elevator he’s been in, and he tries to mute his gnawing anxiety deep in his chest with careful breathes.

There are a number of doors in the hallway he steps out in, but two guarded individuals gesture Tatsuya forward, to the one directly across from the elevator. When the door opens, the bright sunlight casts through wide office windows. The shadow of King Leo casts over him when he steps inside. King Leo turns around, and though his mask remains on—the fury is clear.

“Wait one moment,” he snarls into his phone, and slams it on the top of the desk. To his right is Lady Scorpio, her head down to a black tablet, distracted. King Leo gestures Tatsuya inside, and to close the door. “You. Sit down, Suou.”

He sits down in a tall and plush armchair before the desk, as King Leo calmly - with just enough restraint - rests his hands on the surface, close to a small alarm clock radio. He can hear him take careful, deep breaths, muting the rage that burns beneath the lion’s mask. Tatsuya imagines the Star Junction with masked pedestrians, watching him drive up north. Before he can confess—

“Give me the tablet,” King Leo says to Lady Scorpio, lowly. She nods, opening a specific application and handing it over on the desk. He turns the volume up on the recording application, and as a showtune-style jingle comes to an end, the host of the recording’s loud voice billows through the tablet.

_“This is Weazel News! To start off our entertainment recap, we’re going to be diving into the mysterious life of Liberty City’s most beloved actress, Junko Kurosu, and the recent discovery of an affair, that had allegedly been going on for several months!”_

Tatsuya almost steals a glance at at King Leo. He keeps his eyes on the tablet instead, at the sound waves rising and falling. The hostess continues.

 _“It has been rumoured for years that the_ Glass Mirror _star has harboured a number of illicit relationships separate from her marriage to entrepreneur Akinari Kashihara, but only recently has one alleged boyfriend spoken out on his mistress’ secret life! Posted to his social media page, the radio host only known as Brown has begun to leak valuable information regarding his time with the actress! Here’s just a clip of the man’s claim!”_

Tatsuya finally does react, furrowing his brow as a voice echoes. His voice is impossibly clear, like a new sheet of glass, but something about it reminds Tatsuya of obnoxious high schoolers who think they’re funnier than they really are. Maybe it’s the way he leads his words with a cut off laugh.

 _“—Because you know, it’s all secret, behind the doors, but damn, the things she does behind those doors! And I don’t mean just in the bed—”_ ‘Brown’ pauses, most certainly winking at whatever he figured to be pointed at him, _“—but where all that money comes from! Girl’s loaded, and she’s got the whole city paying her!”_

It returns to the news broadcast, and Tatsuya can see King Leo’s shoulders tense.

_“When comments online begged Brown to elaborate, he promised to leak everything on this upcoming Friday show on his radio channel, Vice City FM! Any listeners are encouraged to record his tell-all and submit it to—”_

King Leo slams his hand into the tablet to stop the recording Lady Scorpio, though icy and reserved as ever, hurriedly pulls the tablet away from him, before he crushes the screen.

“This was from Monday’s broadcast,” King Leo says, bitterly. “I cannot have this fool claim to know my associate so dearly. Miss Kurosu is a close confidant of our group, you understand.”

Tatsuya nods. He tries to ignore the thought of the Aquarius mask watching him from a corner in the room.

”You will kill him.” King Leo moves a hand to the alarm clock radio, leaning forward on it. The plastic makes a quiet groan beneath the force of his weight. “This evening, he has delegated his _confession_ to begin at five-thirty. Kill him while the broadcast occurs.”

Tatsuya grips his knees, and looks to the clock to avoid looking at King Leo’s large mask. “I understand.”

“Ensure he is recording. It will be a reminder to the enemies of our group.” King Leo looks over to Lady Scorpio. “Give him the location while you lead him out. That is all, Suou.”

Lady Scorpio rises, and adjusts her brilliant blue scarf as she walks towards Tatsuya, tablet still pulled to her chest. Tatsuya quietly rises and follows her, his feet heavy and threatening to drag. She opens the door for him, then closes it, mask down turned to the tablet.

Tatsuya watches her. Her silence is potent, and even when it is only them in the hallway, he can only hear his own breathing. She eventually turns the tablet over to him, showing him an online map of a residential neighbourhood.

“He broadcasts from Alderney,” she says, and immediately Tatsuya realizes how young she sounds. “Which is rather ironic, given his affection for the city. Regardless - he lives in Leftwood. I will send you the proper address when you leave.”

“Is he that much of a threat?” Tatsuya asks.

Lady Scorpio shrugs. “Admittedly, I think it is a waste of time. But what King Leo decrees is what we do. He has a deep fondness for miss Kurosu.”

Tatsuya nods, but his head feels heavy. Lady Scorpio pulls the tablet back to her, and she looks through Tatsuya.

“Get going. You don’t want to be late.” She almost pushes him into the elevator, her hand firm on his shoulder. When the doors close, she turns away. Tatsuya pulls out his phone and waits for the doors to open on the bottom floor.

* * *

_“I understand the problem here.”_

“I would hope you do,” Tatsuya mutters into his helmet’s receiver, as his bike waits at a red stoplight. Kei sighs deeply on the other end of the call, and Tatsuya can imagine Liberty City’s sovereign lounging on a balcony high above the city, begrudgingly sitting up from his lounge chair. Good.

 _“I don’t need your sarcasm, Suou.”_ Kei takes a sip of some drink offered to him. _“What’s his radio station, again? Vice City FM?”_

“Yes.” The light turns green.

 _“Never listened to it. Yamaoka—turn it on,”_ Kei says, his voice muted for a moment as he gestures. Distantly, electronic pop from decades past plays, and Kei hums. _“Seems 80s to me. From the sound of him, he doesn’t seem that much older than us, so I assume he just likes the genre.”_

“Does that mean anything?”

 _“For Christ’s sake, I’m having a conversation with you. And they say I’m the one with no personality.”_ Another sip, and the ice clinks together in the glass. _“I’m going to call your friend, Naoya Toudou. You won’t have enough time to drive all over the city to pick him up and then get to the place on time for the broadcast, so just come to my building.”_

Tatsuya looks at the street he’s on, and then merges into a turning lane to reach a more familiar street. “How are you going to do that?”

_“Don’t worry about it. When you arrive, you’re obviously not going to kill this man. Bring him into my custody. Even if he doesn’t want to—maybe when a real Circle member jams a gun up his ass, he’ll get the message.”_

Kei’s remark relieves him deeply, and he sighs quietly into the receiver. “Alright. Do we bring him to you?”

_“Yes. Yamaoka will be present at the pickup—he will take him to me. The last thing I wanted to do today was protecting some ‘indie radio host’, but—”_

“Think of this as our first step to defying the group,” Tatsuya interjects, and frowns at the road. “You are thinking of what to do, right?”

_“Yes, Suou. Plans are underway. All I require are the resources.”_

“I hope you’re being honest.”

_“If there’s one thing I am, Tatsuya, it is that I am a honest man.”_

* * *

It’s a helicopter. A large, sleek helicopter with a large ‘N’ on its two doors.

He tries not to be impressed. He tries very hard.

Naoya is—somehow—at the tower before he arrives, and grins at him when Tatsuya opens the door to the helicopter pad. Kei Nanjo is examining something on his phone, and then turns it off before lifting his head to Tatsuya as well.

“Nice to meet you here,” Naoya says.

Tatsuya tries to smile, but it feels uneven. He nods instead. “Must be nice, being drove by Nanjo.”

Naoya looks back at the helicopter, laughing. “I wouldn’t say _drove.”_

“We don’t have time to chat,” Kei says, “it will take you at least half an hour to get to Alderney, land on the Booth Tunnel, and then drive to where you have to be. Yamaoka is driving there, but there will be a car waiting for you.”

He wants to ask something, but doesn’t. However, Naoya does, incredulous. “Do you have a personal garage in every borough in the city?”

“Of course I do,” Kei remarks, almost confused. “Who doesn’t?”

Naoya looks at Tatsuya, the humour gone from his eyes. Tatsuya simply nods, almost in disbelief.

He’s never rode in a helicopter before. The headset is heavy on his head, and crushes his hair almost worse than his bike helmet. He watches Kei back up from the helicopter pad, who in turn watches on with folded arms until he is a distant figure against the Nanjo Tower roof. The city is even smaller this far up, greater than any balcony he’s looked down from, and they move _fast._

He can’t imagine Kei feels this way every time he enters the helicopter. He wonders if Kei knows how to fly, if it’s something he decided to pick up like any other hobby, or if the helicopter sits on the top of the building, its pilot waiting to drive it every time he hears the scion is in the building. Tatsuya realizes he doesn’t like the idea of massive wealth as he watches Liberty City move.

The city crawls beneath them, a blue haze from the brilliant sky obscuring the details from below. He only recognizes some parts of the city, certain neighbourhoods from above that wind into unfamiliar sections he’s been to but can’t identify.

He does, however, notice the Alderney border in the distance, and the corner of the island that serves as an exit for the Booth Tunnel. Descent is slow, much slower than flying, or even take off. Tatsuya’s almost forgotten Naoya is sitting next to him when he turns his head, but Naoya looks as mesmerized by the height and motions of Liberty City as Tatsuya. Another helicopter pad comes into vision eventually, landing just short of the shoreline to the river. When Tatsuya removes the headphones and steps from the helicopter, his balance feels wrong for just a moment. He breathes in the smell of vile river water, and grimaces.

It does not take long for suited Nanjo representatives to breach the chain linked fence and approach Naoya and Tatsuya. They gesture for them both to follow, and from behind their dark sunglasses Tatsuya can feel their stern gazes. Beyond the fence is a black Kuruma, and they usher the men inside, where Yamaoka smiles brightly in the rear view window.

“Good afternoon, master Suou,” he says, jovial. “Allow me to bring you to your destination.”

* * *

 

They park at the corner of Sacramento Avenue. Down the street is Franklin Street, but they step out on to the side walk instead. It would feel wrong, even if he knows there will be no blood shed. Tatsuya takes out a cigarette and lights it almost immediately, sighing a plume of smoke, looking down the road to his left. He feels a wave of exhaustion, but he closes his eyes tight enough to burn the static behind them to wake himself up.

Tatsuya beckons Naoya to follow, and they begin their walk down the road. He takes a drag of the cigarette before offering it to Naoya, who considers for a moment before accepting the exchange. As he struggles to breathe in the nicotine, Tatsuya pockets his hands.

“We’re going to be bringing him back to him, right?”

“Yeah. He’s going to park down the road and wait.” Naoya grimaces as he pulls the cigarette away, and offers it back to Tatsuya. “I know _you_ smoke, but _Jesus._ Kick me if I ever pick it up.”

Tatsuya puts it to his mouth, and he finds himself smiling quietly. “It’s a bad habit. I won’t let you.”

“Thanks,” Naoya says, coughing the last of the smoke out of his lungs, into a closed fist. He keeps the grimace, but seems to relax from the strain. He frowns, peering ahead. “Wait—who is that?”

Tatsuya tosses his cigarette to the ground, stepping on it as he lifts his head. A man leans against a car in front of the target home, smoking his own cigarette. He lounges against the hood of his car, eyes to the sky. When the two men approach him, he lowers his head to look at them.

“You’re Suou, aren’t you?” he asks, and then glances to Naoya. “You allowed to bring friends?”

“He told me I could,” Tatsuya lies, and then puts his hands in his pockets. “I, uh, wasn’t told you would be here, though.”

“Name’s Youichi.” The man lifts himself off his car, holding the cigarette between his teeth. “Don’t think we need more than two here, but whatever. Get over here—it’s almost five-thirty.”

Youichi walks around his car to the back door, and pulls a green gym back halfway out the door. As Tatsuya and Naoya cautiously approach, he holds out two familiar masks stacked together, similar to the Joker design worn by those in service to the King. Once Naoya takes them, Youichi takes out a pistol and holsters it in his hooded jacket’s large pockets. Naoya exchanges a concerned glance with Tatsuya, who stares at the masks.

“Afraid I only brought two,” Youichi says, and holds out the other gun to Tatsuya. “Guess you can keep watch. What’s your name?”

“Toudou.”

“Alright. Suou, Toudou. Get those on, and then we go in.”

The mask is heavier than he expected it could be. It is carved from a thick plastic, and is painted with extravagant colours—his own is purple and red. The black straps are heavy on his head, but it fits comfortably on—which makes him uncertain. The smile on Youichi’s mask, though wide and stretching from eye to eye, is nothing but cold. He closes the door, walks the two men up short concrete steps to the front door, and kicks it in.

* * *

 

“I know what you’re all waiting for,” he grins into the microphone, leaning on a table that has been the receiver of many coffee spills and unfortunate accidents. His hand hovers over a soundboard, thumb itching to play a whistle. “‘Brown, handsome, our man, why won’t you get to the goods?’ And I say, wait, good-looking, I get _performance anxiety.”_

In his very expensive leather swivel chair, he leans himself back, kicking his feet up on to a designated spot on the desk for just the gesture with a wild laugh. He holds out his arm to look at his nails, pursing his lips. “But lets cut to the chase—what do _I_ have that is _so_ interesting, Junko Kurosu wanted to get all up on my jonny?”

Something creaks in the house. Whatever. It does that. It might be the cat.

“So with today’s episode of Brown Talks, we’re going to dig deeper into Liberty City’s best kept secret since the Hanamura warehouse scandal!” He throws his legs down and leans forward, slamming on the soundboard to play a personally mixed song. “I know, I’m already so funny, clever, talented, _and_ the most handsome man this side of the country, why _wouldn’t_ every guy and gal drop to their knees and beg for just one day together? That’s where we begin… the courtship of your favourite host…”

The next sound is a horror stint, also personally mixed. “So let me start us off with reassuring you all, I’ve got the deets: you already know it wasme—yeah, yeah it’s me, so listen. Back in January of 2013, when your boy was in his most humble beginnings as Alderney’s favourite—”

Someone’s at the door. The floor creaks in such a way that it can’t be the cat. Hidehiko turns his head, lowering the volume on the mixer in front of him. “Just a moment, ladies and gentlemen, someone’s breaking in on our gossip time.”

He removes his headphones and slowly—carefully—walks towards his office door. When he opens it and peeks his head out, the force of the door being thrown open is enough to shove him back, and a hand grabs for his throat, guiding him to the desk. His back slams into the white desk, and whatever scream he tries is suffocated out of him.

“W-Who are you?! Are you her husband or something?!” Hidehiko gags, scratching at the powerful hand wrapped around his throat. A wicked smile stares back at him, clownish and unsettling—the gun pressed to his cheek scrapes against the skin. “C-C’mon, man! Let’s talk!”

“Consider this a warning,” the man says, a deep and vicious voice from under the grinning mask. “For anyone who threatens to leak our secrets.”

A gun’s trigger is a violent sound, ripping through the room and breaking through flesh and bone. Hidehiko drops to the floor with his arms over his head, crashing into disorganized cables and the desktop computer tucked under the desk. He squeezes his eyes shut as the barrage of bullets breaks the electronics above him, sparks and blood falling down on top of him. It’s over as soon as it began, with the door swung open and silence sweeping through the room.

Hidehiko opens his eyes and lifts his head. The masked man’s body is on the floor, viciously torn holes up his back and one in the back of his skull. His blood drips from the edge of the desk, as the rest spills into the old carpet. He can hear the hum of broken radio equipment, sparking occasionally. In the doorway are two more masked men, and he has to look between their raised weapons and the dead body to truly process what happened.

“Did you just kill your buddy? Did you just break my radio?!” In a flurry of confusion and anger, Hidehiko kicks the body in front of him trying to scramble up. “Take those stupid things off or I’ll—”

One of them takes his mask off—Naoya throws it to the ground in total disbelief, and runs across the room to the man still on the ground. _“Hidehiko?_ You’re—you’re _still_ using—”

 _“Naoya?”_ Hidehiko’s voice tries to hold on to the fear, but his mouth breaks into a grin, like a dead body doesn’t sit beside him and the kneeling man. “Are you—dude, you just James Bonded that dude! He wanted to kill me? Shit, how long? Am I a wanted man?”

Tatsuya removes the mask over his head, then kneels and gathers Naoya’s. He places them on the desk separate from the blood, mindful of the sparks that occasionally leap from the damaged equipment. He pockets his pistol, before looking down at Hidehiko and Naoya.

“Do you know each other?”

“Uh, _yeah,_ Naoya’s my best pal!” Hidehiko grins, leaning back on one hand. “Been a while, though. You been good? How’s Maki treatin’ you?”

“She’s fine,” Naoya says, scratching his head. “Hidehiko—do you know who was coming for you?”

“What, the people you dressed up as?” Hidehiko shrugs, and then starts to get up on his feet, Naoya following. “Not a clue. Was it Junko’s husband?”

“A little more than that,” Tatsuya says, examining the body of Youichi Makimura. When the other two men rise, he kneels. “Do you know of the Masked Circle?”

“No shit, what do you think I was going to say?” Hidehiko looks over to his computer, and despair spreads over his face. “C’mon, did you _have_ to smash this stuff?! You know how long it took me to get half of these things?!”

Naoya looks down at his pistol—more of a revolver, a large and bulky weapon most certainly given to him by Kei Nanjo—and frowns. “Sorry. We had to stop him.”

“Man… it’ll take _ages_ to get Vice City back on her feet…” Hidehiko looks at Tatsuya, curiously. “You’re Naoya’s buddy?”

“Tatsuya Suou.”

“Alright, Tatsuya—when’s the replacement coming?”

Naoya sighs, and puts a hand on Hidehiko’s shoulder. “You need to come with us. The people who sent us want you dead, and they wanted to hear it.”

Hidehiko’s expression darkens, as horror comes upon him. “Jesus Christ, all because Junko Kurosu sat on my face?”

“We don’t need to hear the details,” Tatsuya mutters.

“Shit, this is like witness protection or something!” Hidehiko laughs, suddenly pushing past Naoya. “Lemme get something before you put me in those secret hotels, or wherever they go. Man, this is fucking cool.”

Hidehiko almost skips over the still warm body, then grabs the open door frame to spin himself out. Tatsuya looks towards Hidehiko’s exit, then up to Naoya, raising his brow.

“Where’d you meet?” he asks.

“When I was living in Florida,” Naoya admits, “He’s a big fan of Vice City’s whole… vibe. He moved up here after we split up.”

Tatsuya’s brow doesn’t go down. Naoya seems to realize what he said, and then scratches his head, looking away and paying more attention to the cat that has seemed to wander in.

“We should be going,” he says, but then looks back at the body. “What are we going to do about him?”

Tatsuya looks at Youichi as well. He reaches to his bloody hair, and peels off the mask as careful as he can. Blood spills from the inside of the mask, its stark white interior now stained a brilliant red. He takes the gun from under Youichi’s hand and holds it out to Naoya. The scent of blood is thick as he draws close to the body, adjusting the arms with as much of a fleeting touch as he can.

“It’s not going to fool anyone _I_ worked with,” he admits, “but if no one knows who he is, then it should buy us enough time.”

“For?”

“Ending our _alliance_ with these people. Kei says he’s working on something.” Tatsuya rolls the body over, the twisted pain of Youichi’s expression revealed for both of them to see. “Go make sure Hidehiko’s ready. We shouldn’t stay.”

“I’ll call the driver,” Naoya says, and exits the room just as Tatsuya stands up. Tatsuya looks down at the body, at the crooked fingers and blood swelling in the open tears of his jacket, and then at his hands. They are stained, lightly, with Youichi’s blood, and they smear against the white masks when he gathers them in his hands. He shuffles out of the room, looking down at the curious calico wandering at his feet.

Hidehiko has an arm over Naoya’s shoulders, wearing a new bright purple jacket and gaudy orange goggles on his head. “Ready when you are, gentlemen. Don’t worry about Kanzato there—he doesn’t bite.”

The cat roams over to his ridiculous owner, who kneels and allows him to climb up, who sits comfortably on Hidehiko’s shoulder. The cat watches Naoya curiously—and when Tatsuya approaches the two, he looks towards him. Tatsuya looks at the cat, skeptical, and then sighs.

“Is the car outside?” Tatsuya asks, and Naoya nods. “Then get in there quickly, both of you.”

With a hand up in the cat’s fur, Hidehiko strides from his front door, ignoring the damage to the wooden frame. The black Kuruma sits in front of Youichi’s car, and both Tatsuya and Naoya take pause.

“Shit,” Naoya mutters, “I forgot he drove here. We can’t leave it.”

Yamaoka steps out of the vehicle to pull open the door to Hidehiko and his feline companion, looking at the two men. “Is there a problem, master Suou?”

“The car—it belongs to… the Circle member,” he says, looking back into the house. “I’ll go get the keys. I’ll drive it into the city.”

“No, no—do not concern yourself with that,” Yamaoka says, a hand raised. “Master Suou, _I_ will drive the vehicle somewhere secluded. If it is crucial to your plan, then allow the Nanjo family to assist some more. You may drive my vehicle.”

Tatsuya looks humbled. “Thank you, Yamaoka.”

“I’ll get his keys, then,” Naoya says, turning back to the house. “Get in the car, Tats. Someone’s _definitely_ called about those shots.”

Tatsuya nods, and then climbs into the front of the Kuruma, adjusting the extraordinary comfortable leather seat to accommodate for his legs. In the back, Hidehiko has his legs spread out on the back seat, cat relaxing in his lap. With only the cooing of Hidehiko to keep him company, Tatsuya finds himself soon drumming his fingers on the wheel out of frustration.

“How long have you known my boy Naoya?” Hidehiko asks from behind him.

“Since high school,” Tatsuya replies, dull.

“Wait, are you the buddy of his he left back here?”

“Most likely.”

“Damn, he talked his ass off about you all the time. Missed the hell out of you! Must’ve been nice wanting to see someone again. I’ve just got my sister out in Los Santos—and you, of course, little rascal. Oh, not you, Tatsuya, I’m talking—”

“The cat.” Tatsuya grips the wheel. “I understand.”

“Atta boy. You like cats? I’m _way_ more of a cat person than a dog person. Lookit him, sweetest thing around, unlike—”

He continues. He does not stop, even when Tatsuya starts to look up at him through the rear view window with a viciously cold stare. Hidehiko doesn’t notice, instead looking between the door of his home and the eyes of his cat, lazily petting him with a wickedly irritating grin.

“—then I was like, look, _Masa,_ just because your dog’s got the biggest nads at the dog park doesn’t mean I want to pet him, right? Dude was so irritated, like I just called his radio tacky and irritating, which it is, by the way, I just didn’t say it right then, but I did say it before, so maybe he was pissed at that? Who knows, guy’s such a load of—”

The passenger door opens. Tatsuya stares holes into Naoya when he sits down, who looks at him incredulously.

“Yamaoka’s going to drive the car to the garage,” he says, like nothing has happened. “Everything alright?”

“Chatting to your old buddy here, Naoya,” Hidehiko says, his grin just getting wider. “Kanzato and I are ready to go.”

Tatsuya turns the keys of the car so furiously, the engine squeaks. He pushes his foot on the gas, and the initial lurch doesn’t stop the knowing smirk lingering on Naoya’s face.

“Hey,” he says, looking back to Hidehiko, that smirk fading. “I’m sorry this is happening, Hidehiko.”

“You kidding? I already told you, man, it’s like I’m in witness protection and I’m about to meet all sorts of secret spies and shit.”

“It’s not as glamorous—we’re not secretly government spies. It’s the Nanjo Group.”

Hidehiko almost slips out of his seat, Kanzato leaping from his lap to the other side of the car. _“Kei fucking Nanjo sent you?!_ Dude, WHEN did you start rubbing elbows with the richest man in the goddamn _country?!”_

“I think Kouetsu Kirijo might be richer,” Naoya remarks, and Tatsuya looks at him with a bizarre, incredulous look.

“No, no way, dude, Nanjo is like, _ten_ times richer.” Hidehiko fixes his tacky goggles and sits in his seat properly once more, staring at Naoya. “He’s got swimming pools in his swimming pools. He rents out entire movie theatres and then _doesn’t go to the movie._ He probably wipes his ass with thousand dollar bills.”

“Those don’t exist,” Tatsuya says plainly, a little louder than necessary.

“Psh, you don’t know that. What if Nanjo personally gets dollar bills with his face on it? Wait, what if he prints dollar bills with his enemies on them, and then wipes his ass with _those?_ That’d be fucking hilarious.”

They’re hitting every red light imaginable. Tatsuya doesn’t look away from the road, but he can feel Naoya’s eyes linger on him.

“Regardless,” Naoya says, in between Hidehiko’s rambling, “We’re going to bring you to him. He’s going to put you under safe custody until we can get these people off all of our backs.”

“Are they messing with you, too?” Hidehiko asks, kicking his leg back up on the seat to allow his cat to crawl back. Naoya’s eyes flicker between him and Tatsuya, and even though Tatsuya doesn’t look, Hidehiko’s frown worsens.

“It’s complicated,” Naoya admits, “But it won’t be for long. I don’t know when we’re going to act, but…”

“You need me, I’m your man,” Hidehiko says, pounding a fist to his chest. “No, I’m serious, dude. I know how to use a gun. I’ve got a punch that can knock your lights out. Kicking ass and taking names, _that_ would be a lot more fun than waiting to show my pretty face in public again. Even if the hotel I get is _real_ sweet, shit, you think I could still update my LifeInvader while hiding? Aw man, pretending to be dead’s gonna suck—”

Naoya leans back in his seat, glancing at Tatsuya once again. The droll of Hidehiko fills the backseat, including his commentary to his cat, but Naoya still mutters through the incessant rambling.

“You two kind of sound alike,” he says. Tatsuya wants to push him, but just grips the wheel tighter.

“Say that again,” he warns, “and you’re walking home.”


	30. a bitter courtship

“A _helicopter?!_ Are you _serious,_ Nanjo?!”

Hidehiko, with lanky legs and a fluffy cat in his arms, leaps from the helicopter door and lands on the concrete helicopter pad when it finally touches the ground. He adjusts his goggles and pulls them back up over his head from his eyes, snapping them on for a ride that he said—numerous times— was ‘the ride of his life’.  
Kei Nanjo approaches the helicopter with his arms behind his back, watching the (alleged) radio star with a neutral stare. The helicopter blades slowly begin to come to a halt, quietly rotating above their heads.

“It is very dangerous to leap out of a helicopter that hasn’t come to a stop,” he remarks, then lifts a hand to fix his hair swept by the coming aircraft. “I would hope you are unharmed, mister Uesugi.”

Hidehiko’s eyes light up. “You _know my name?!”_

“Your friend Naoya sent me a text message-”

Hidehiko throws his arm around Kei’s shoulders, giving him a firm squeeze and yanking him close. “You know my _name!_ Holy _shit,_ we’re going to be the BEST of friends if you already know everything about me!”

Kei’s stare turns horrified as he glares daggers into Naoya and Tatsuya, who climb out of the helicopter now. Naoya’s deeply apologetic glance is overshadowed by Tatsuya pointedly looking away from Kei. Kei, with stiff arms and a repulsed grimace, pries Hidehiko off of him, all while Nanjo security lead Hidehiko towards the large roof door.

“Take him to his new residence,” Kei says, with heavy disgust in his words while fixing his suit sleeves. “Ensure he is… accommodated.”

“Yo! Nanjo!” Hidehiko waves, grinning over his shoulder. “Call me, alright, new-best-friend?”

“I _hate_ cats,” Kei sneers under his breath, brushing the cat hair off his black suit. White tufts of fur linger around his shoulders, and Tatsuya feels laughter boil in his chest. He coughs, trying to clear it. Kei takes a deep, steadying breath, and beckons the two men remaining towards him.

“I am not keeping him for very long,” Kei warns.

Naoya can’t stop grinning. “He’s harmless, I promise.”

“There is very little I detest more than someone who is _harmless,_ when they are _deeply irritating.”_ Finally, Kei adjusts his tie. “Regardless, that is not why I am keeping you. Suou, it is time we discuss our next action.”

Tatsuya finally looks towards Kei, and nods, understanding. “What do we have to do?”

“Come with me,” he says, gesturing to both men. The Nanjo security that remain on the helicopter pad march alongside them, one opening the door to the roof once they cross the concrete. Inside, the rush of air hits Tatsuya, rustling his hair before they step inside. Even in a service stairwell, the walls are painted and solid, hiding the concrete bricks he’s seen in other buildings. For once, Tatsuya doesn’t roll his eyes.

“It will be easier to explain in my office,” Kei admits as they descend the concrete stairs, painted thickly with white fire-proof paint. “But there is no reason to delay. Our first objective is to secure the locations of your brother, his girlfriend, and your friend. I surmise they may be kept in custody of a primary Circle member, but I, of course, lack evidence to prove that.”

One of the men walking ahead of them opens a door, leading directly into the hallway of Kei Nanjo’s office. As they file into the ornate hallway, Tatsuya notices Naoya’s eyes light up in amazement at each crystal and gold plate on the walls, furniture, and ceiling. Kei continues, without batting an eye. “Once we have found them—we’re going to be liberating them into my family’s custody. Then, we will directly attack Leo himself.”

Tatsuya furrows his brow. “Physically?”

“Of course. This ‘King’—hardly a _man,_ not worth of kingship—will not react kindly to us taking his property. I will not allow for him to plan any retaliation, so we will kill him.”

“How are we going to ensure _that?”_ Naoya asks, pulled from his admirable daydream.

“He has many estates across the city. However, I am led to believe _his_ personal penthouse is in Middle Park. Eriko has been researching diligently.” Security opens the massive doors to his office, and promptly close it behind Tatsuya and Naoya. Inside, Eriko is sitting at her desk across the room, who lifts her head and smiles at the men entering.

“You were saying?” she says, playful. “Your voice travels, Kei.”

Kei rolls his eyes. “Why don’t _you_ tell them our plan, then?”

“You’re free to keep talking,” Eriko winks, waving a pen in his direction. “I didn’t say it was a _bad_ thing. Hey, Tatsuya, how’s it been?”

“Fine,” Tatsuya assures, and Kei sighs sharply.

“As I was saying,” he continues, taking a seat at his desk. He makes a vague gesture for the two to sit down in the seats in front of him, and both of them sit down in unison.

“We’re not going to allow him to run to another mansion, or another apartment. We’ll go there and attack him directly.”

Tatsuya frowns. “I think I went there today.”

“Isn’t it fucking creepy?” Kei says, nonchalant, looking towards his personal computer and opening a document in his email. “He owns the entire building. Everyone there acts like him.”

“He owns the entire _building?”_ Naoya repeats, bewildered.

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Kei leans his cheek against his fist, scrolling to the bottom of the document, with a roll of his eyes. “It will make infiltration difficult, but not impossible. I trust that it will be possible.”

Tatsuya shifts in his seat, and thinks about a familiar balcony. “That seems brazen.”

“I’ve contacted my lawyers.” Kei looks at Tatsuya, then leans forward on the table. “Yours, of course, for your coming hearing. I presume that will continue after the safe return of the captain. As well to cover any… _legal_ complications that may come from this assassination. Legal defence, accountants, advisers, paralegals… I have spent much of my time in these recent weeks arranging for my legal contacts to assist us in what will come.”

Naoya looks towards Tatsuya, eyes wide. Tatsuya lowers his gaze to the front of Kei’s desk—behind him, he can hear Eriko rise from her seat and walk towards the three men, and leans against the side of Kei’s desk, head cocked and arms folded.

“Officers and leaders of the Circle convene at this condominium,” she says, glancing at the computer screen curiously. “We know they’ll be there. None of them are innocent—they’ve all had a hand in the kidnappings, the extortion, the murders—anything that’s happened in this city, someone in that building’s been responsible.”

“You’re certain,” Tatsuya clarifies.

“You killed one of them today, you know.” Eriko replies. “That’s why we need to act fast. Maybe the police are going to think that man was Hidehiko, but when he doesn’t return to their headquarters… Leo’s going to get suspicious.”

“Makimura…” he sighs, and leans against the side of the chair. He thinks about the bloody body and the bullet in his skull, and closes his eyes.

“I can’t say he was terribly important— _I_ certainly have no idea who he was,” Kei says, leaning back. “But—you need to do something for this mission to work, Suou.”

“What is it.”

“Find out the location of these hostage by speaking to Jun Kurosu.”

Tatsuya scratches the side of his head hard enough to burn his scalp. “I’m not sure he’s going to just leak that, Kei.”

“Threaten to kill him. Or charm it out of him. From what I hear, he has a preference for men.”

Tatsuya slips his hand over his eyes, shutting them tight. “Kei.”

Kei frowns. “What?”

“You’re telling me to— _charm_ someone. Into breaking his family’s trust.”

“Or kill him.” Kei tents his fingers together. Tatsuya can feel his shoulders bristle. “Killing a Kurosu can be for the greater good. We’re not going to give the family much time to mourn, after all.”

“Kei,” Eriko sighs, a little terse. “I don’t think Jun Kurosu does much for the family. You don’t need to talk about him like that when you dislike his mother more.”

Tatsuya sits up from his lean, and starts to rise out of his chair. “I understand what he means. You don’t have to argue for me.” He looks at Kei directly, a much more grim expression crossing him. “I’m going to go… call him.”

Kei raises his brow. “You have his phone number?”

“And,” he continues, sharply, “I will find out where they are. Peacefully.”

It’s Kei’s turn to watch him with a darker look, a glare starting to settle. “Are you getting tired of killing, Suou?”

He crosses the room to the door, not looking back at Naoya and Eriko. “Maybe,” he admits, and opens the door by himself, not waiting for security or Yamaoka to fetch it for him. When he slams the door, he can hear the gold plating rattle.

* * *

 

Night has begun to crawl over the city. The waterfront of Hove Beach is colder at night, and Tatsuya keeps a cigarette for company.

He thinks about the streets of Broker, and the myriad of turns and shadows from the subway system that he remembers running down, years ago. Reflection creeps up on him too often, draining him from deep within, like a sadness from the pits of his stomach. The shadow of night makes the ocean reflect the moon, its face bright and full as the only means of light—save for the street lights behind him, of course. But he keeps his back to the road, hand on the dock’s rail.

“Tatsuya?” Jun’s voice is curious, and when he turns around, the younger man pulls off the same sunglasses from earlier today, with a grey hood pulled over his head.

“Hey,” he says, taking the cigarette from out of his mouth. “—Why are you wearing sunglasses at night?”

Jun shrugs, but smiles. “I don’t want people to notice it’s me.”

Tatsuya lingers for a moment, but finds himself grinning back. “I see.”

With a gentle touch, Jun links their arms together as Tatsuya throws the cigarette away, its ash burning the grains of sand kicked up on to the wood. Jun leans his head against Tatsuya’s jacket, pressed against his shoulder. Tatsuya feels that familiar red threaten him, potent in the cool of night. He remembers it was this morning, and he feels uncertain.

“I wasn’t expecting you to call me out this late,” Jun admits, “Usually, I’d be sitting down for dinner.”

“I didn’t pull you away from anything, did I?” Tatsuya asks.

“No. I’m not hungry, anyway.” Jun looks up at the sky, where starlight struggles to glimmer in the light pollution. “Do you like the beach?”

“I don’t swim much. But it looks nice.” Tatsuya leans into Jun as they continue to walk. The wood beneath them occasionally sighs, and with each step the sand crunches against their shoes. “If it wasn’t so late, I’d take you to that carnival on the other street.”

“I think it’s closed for the summer, anyway,” Jun laughs, and Tatsuya can feel his smile against his shoulder. “I once went to the boardwalk fair in Los Santos. It was much nicer than this one.”

“Are you from Los Santos?”

“It was just a vacation. I liked the weather - I miss it.”

Jun sighs. Tatsuya looks at the distant cliffs of Beachgate, far along the shore. There’s a small spot of beach far below the edge, cluttered with garbage and debris. As the two of them pass an abandoned ice cream cart on the boardwalk, left from the afternoon, the shape of Hove Beach obscures the distant cliffs. He closes his eyes and allows Jun to guide him.

“Jun.”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

They stop in front of the Hove Beach bowling alley. The brilliant lights of the building light up Jun’s face, and beneath the hood, he looks different. Less put together, less decorated by his family’s burdens. He leans into Tatsuya’s arm gently.

“It’s about earlier today,” Tatsuya begins, feeling a sharpness in his chest. Jun watches him peacefully, tilting his head with gentle eyes.

“Did something upset you?” Jun asks.

“No, nothing upset me.” Tatsuya briefly looks towards the lights of the alley, and then to Jun. He thinks about Kei looking at him across from a wide desk, and he feels uncertain. With a mental push, he keeps Kei out of his mind and thinks about this morning, about the comfortable couch, about Jun’s impulsive eyes. “I wanted to ask why you wanted to kiss me.”

Jun doesn’t change his expression. His eyes keep that same gentle gaze, with lidded eyes and lips slightly pursed in thought. He notices Jun looks towards his mouth, and the uncertainty doesn’t leave. “Nobody listens to me. I wanted to thank you.”

They become quiet, but don’t separate, nor does Tatsuya show how his chest hurts. The Kei in his head pushes on him, repeatedly, like a tormenting presence than a grim reminder. So he listens, breaks the last moral in his heart, and kisses Jun.

Neither of them move, but then Jun does - he shifts his head and moves his hands, over Tatsuya’s chest and then to his neck, arms looped around him. Tatsuya doesn’t know where to move his hand, but when Jun presses against him the arm once around Jun’s slips to his waist. Jun’s kiss is both gentle and passionate, an insistence deep in his heart reaching out to Tatsuya. Tatsuya’s other hand finds Jun’s jaw and holds him, no matter how his lungs start to burn.

Jun parts, then kisses him again, and he does it again—each kiss becomes more firm, more hungry, and his hands go from around Tatsuya’s neck to holding his face, pulling him close. Tatsuya fears, then he wants, then he enjoys, then the epiphany returns and he feels the pain in his chest all over again. He pulls himself from Jun to breathe, and when he does, Jun’s eyes are open, wide, and longing.

“Come with me,” he says, alluring and devoted. He grabs Tatsuya’s hand and guides him back up the boardwalk, an insistent pull that almost feels like a run. Tatsuya impulsively pulls back, but Jun’s determination is stronger than his second thoughts. To his surprise, when they roam up the boardwalk and Jun turns around, a car is parked in the cul-de-sac leading to Hove Beach’s entrance. A black sports car—he can’t identify what kind of car it is at night, but it’s very obviously Jun’s when he finds his keys and opens the passenger door.

“Here,” Jun insists, but Tatsuya looks down the street.

“Can we go to your place, instead?” he asks, with as much faked confidence as he can. As another surprise, Jun seems to grin, and then sits down in the car and closes it. Tatsuya presses his lips together into a firm line as he walks to the driver’s seat, almost dreading opening it and sitting down. Jun has already put his keys in the ignition, and he leans against his own door, watching Tatsuya with a heavy look.

He likes how Jun looks. He’s handsome, he’s beautiful, he’s interested—but he knows it isn’t right, isn’t how it should go. The radio turns on when the car does, but it is a low, distant sound as he turns the car around and gets them on the right side of the road. When Tatsuya leans back to look out the back window, Jun touches his hand, and he has to break a smile to assure him.

The ride is short—Jun directs him to the Beachgate entrance, just down a long road beneath Broker’s subway line, all while leaning towards Tatsuya with curious hands and a wickedly beautiful smile. Tatsuya watches him at the one red light they linger at, where Jun leans on the middle compartment of the car and brushes his hand against Tatsuya’s cheek. The Beachgate road is familiar, winding down into the driveway of a building he recognizes from his second visit. Tatsuya is out of the car first, and he can hear Jun almost laugh inside.

Jun walks around the front of the car and pulls himself into Tatsuya’s chest, holding him by the jacket’s collar. “Don’t worry about security or anything,” he purrs, “They know it’s me.”

“They’re alright with me?” Tatsuya asks, like it’s a chance to leave.

“Even if they don’t know who you are… I’m with you, you’ll be fine.” Jun kisses him again, fleeting—but a reminder. He takes Tatsuya’s hand and leads him to the front door, dark on the outside but illuminated within. Tatsuya strains his eyes when the glass chandelier catches his eye, and barely has enough time to step out of his shoes before Jun pulls him up the nearby staircase anyway.

Jun’s bedroom is larger than any bedroom Tatsuya has ever seen. The bed sits in the middle of the room, surrounded by extravagant furniture—a vanity, two armoires, a personal writing desk with a laptop, and a large white wooden chest, certainly holding numerous possessions. A door sits on the other corner of the room, perhaps a private bathroom. Jun turns a light on the writing desk and gestures for Tatsuya to turn off the overhead light, a small fixture decorated in glass crystals.

Jun unzips the grey hoodie, shapeless and unassuming, and beneath is a shirt that looks far more like what he’d wear, a bright blue dress shirt with rose buttons. He approaches Tatsuya, and raises his arms to loop around his shoulders again, fingers locked together. His smile doesn’t leave, doesn’t slip away with a kiss; he embraces Tatsuya once more, only to move one of his hands down to Tatsuya’s arms.

“You can touch me,” he says, coyly, and it makes Tatsuya’s skin burn with a rush of absolute want. He slips a hand over Jun’s hip, his hands finding the hem of his shirt and then touching his skin, while Jun’s own hands slip into Tatsuya’s hair to kiss him. The light makes Jun all the more warmer to look at, to touch, to kiss and feel up, and he hums and sighs into Tatsuya’s mouth enough to distract him.

But the present returns to him when Jun pulls on him, mouth all over his and over his jaw and neck, until he sits on his bed and brings Tatsuya over him. Jun’s hands roam, with fevered kisses and tugging fingers, and finally—Tatsuya pulls himself away.

“Stop,” he says, hushed and quickly. Jun watches him and tilts his head, hair rolling against impossibly comfortable bedsheets.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Jun,” Tatsuya says, and stops looking away from him to stare into his eyes, moving one of his hands close to his cheek, his index finger almost close enough to touch his soft skin. “Jun, I—I don’t want to do this to you.”

The heartbreak starts to crumble in Jun’s eyes, and he furrows his brow together. Tatsuya grimaces, with the guilt and pain that waited in his own heart, and sighs, looking down between their chests. “Because—I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to rush, this is way too fast, I don’t want to cause any problems—”

“You won’t,” Jun says, and pushes on Tatsuya’s chest gently to sit up, pushed up on his hand. Below, he kicks off the shoes he never took off, letting them drop to the carpet. “I didn’t—realize that would upset you.”

Tatsuya’s hands remain at Jun’s side. “—I want to get to know you.” It makes Jun smile, if sadly. “But I can’t do it like this.”

Jun looks away, the embarrassment starting to creep up on him. “I apologize, Tatsuya.”

He watches Jun, as the silence takes them, but through the heaviness in his heart, Tatsuya remembers, and he takes one of Jun’s hands. “I don’t want to hurt you by letting this continue.”

“Let what continue?”

“I’m going to put a stop to everything that has happened.” Tatsuya’s eyes harden with a sharp burst of determination. “The Circle, your family. I need you to help me. You need to tell me where my brother is.”

Jun’s eyes stare into Tatsuya, a fear suddenly sparking inside of him. “Tatsuya, I—I can’t, they’ll get to them first, they’ll kill us both—”

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Tatsuya interrupts, “I promise you, it won’t happen. But I need you to help me. I need to know where my brother is before I can do anything.”

The way Jun looks at him is like a hundred windows shattering—nervous, fearful, shocked and guilty, the same look that he gave Tatsuya earlier this morning when he confessed his pain. He looks away from Tatsuya again, as if watching him burns to do, but he keeps his hand in his. Tatsuya sits up and rests against the bed, giving Jun air to breathe. He can see Jun bite his tongue from behind his parted lips.

Jun closes his eyes, his mouth, and sighs. He grips Tatsuya’s hand as hard as he can, and he seems to brace himself.

“Your brother is here,” he says, quietly. “He’s—below us.”

Tatsuya’s eyes widen and the blood in his eyes make him dizzy. He grabs Jun’s shoulders and turns him towards him, desperation in how he grips him.

“He’s—is he in the basement?” He asks, just as quiet, but even more afraid. “Jun—Jun, is he alive?”

Jun’s eyes begin to well up, and he nods his head furiously. “Yes, he is, they are, I’m so sorry I brought you—”

Tatsuya gets to his feet, and pulls Jun with him. His hands grab his shoulders again, and he feels a wave of guilt when Jun winces at the roughness. “Please, please, you have to bring me to him—”

“Tatsuya,” Jun says, as clear as he can. “… My father is here. Please don’t hurt him.”

He takes a deep breath, and releases Jun, with his eyes shut. “Bring me to my brother, and then go wake him. I know what to do.”

Jun presses his wrist against his eyes and wipes them clear of tears. With an expression hard enough to keep them from welling again, he takes Tatsuya’s hand and pulls him out of the bedroom, leaving the door open behind them. He wastes little time running down the stairs, his nails digging into Tatsuya’s wrist when they turn from the banister and further into the house, taking long, if heavy strides towards one of the many doors of the open foyer.

The door opens with little trouble, but at the bottom of wooden stairs illuminated by nondescript, dull lights, there is another door, with a keypad lock. Jun releases Tatsuya’s hand quickly as he punches in a numeric code, and Tatsuya feels dizzy again when the door opens. He moves past Jun and hits the wall for a light, and he sees Katsuya staring back at him.

He’s in his work uniform. His glasses are still on, but they are poorly cleaned, specs of dust over the red glass. Beside him is Ulala Serizawa and Yuka Ayase, all three handcuffed and resting against the furthest wall. Ulala blinks several times, strained against the light, while Yuka remains—hopefully, he hopes so tremendously—asleep. Katsuya’s mouth hangs open, the shadows beneath his eyes making him look far more older.

“I can’t believe it,” Katsuya whispers, with a hoarse, tired voice. Ulala sits up as best as she can with Yuka against her shoulder, and looks like she wants to crawl forward, restrained by the girl against her, and her binds.

“Is—are you Tatsuya?” she asks, wary, but with deep desperation. Tatsuya nods, and he can hear her breathe in deep relief.

Tatsuya takes careful steps toward Katsuya, as Jun steps away from the doorway to reach into a steel box. Tatsuya drops to his knees in front of his brother, staring deep into his tired, worn eyes. He can hear Jun walk back into the room, but he doesn’t think of anything but Katsuya, the darkness of the room, and how terrific it feels to wrap his arms around him and hold him tight.

His eyes strain with tears. He shuts his eyes tight, but feels his breathing start to shorten into quick breaths that he can’t control. The sound of metal to metal clatters behind Katsuya, and he already knows what happened when he feels Katsuya’s arms immediately wrap around him in response and pulls him close. Tatsuya grips the dirty grey suit jacket, and grits his teeth to keep the sob threatening to break from his throat. His brother returns the gesture, fingers gripping tight into Tatsuya’s jacket.

“I’m sorry,” Tatsuya chokes out into Katsuya’s shoulder, pulling himself even closer until his face hurts to be pressed so closely. Katsuya lowers his head against him, his glasses pushed up his face and resting against his forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay,” is all Katsuya can mutter back, because even if it isn’t, he is alive, and they are together again. If Katsuya has the threat of tears in his eyes as well, Tatsuya can’t see, because he doesn’t lift his head out of Katsuya’s shoulder until he hears Ulala get to her feet.

“You,” she snarls at Jun, who doesn’t lift his head from undoing Yuka’s handcuffs. “You’re the Kurosu kid, aren’t you?”  
He remains silent. Yuka has quietly woken up, and she weakly looks at Jun, curiously. Jun eventually looks over to the brothers, but doesn’t say anything—which burns Ulala even more. “I’m talking to you!”

“Quiet,” Tatsuya says, lifting his head and looking at her with red eyes. “You—you have to be quiet. It’s night time.”

Ulala clenches her fists, but then turns away and instead grabs her shoulder, rolling it. “Where are we?”

“A mansion in Beachgate,” Jun mutters, putting an arm around Yuka. “We can’t stay down here. We need to get everyone outside.”

“There’s security, isn’t there?” Tatsuya asks, troubled. He wipes his sleeve against his eyes.

“Screw them,” Ulala mutters, rolling her shoulders some more and shaking her toned arms. “I’m waiting to kick the ass of whoever threw me in here. Where are they?”

“You’re not armed,” Tatsuya tries to say, but Ulala points to her arms.

“I’ve got guns right here, kid.” She grins. “Even if it’s been a while. I’m about to pull five hundred muscles, but god damn it, will it be worth it. You—Kurosu—where’s the room?”

Jun glances towards the stairs. “Across the hall, when you leave the basement.”

Ulala’s grin doesn’t leave her face, and she stomps out of the room. “C’mon, Kats, get your brother—we’re getting out of here.”

Tatsuya leaps to his feet, with his brother struggling to get up off of his sore legs. Both of them—Katsuya stumbling—hurry up the stairs after Ulala. Katsuya strains his eyes against the light once again, but Ulala doesn’t seem shaken. Tatsuya will admit he hasn’t been all that familiar with his brother’s girlfriend—but watching her kick a door open and throwing a clenched fist into the first person who stands up is a _fantastic_ introduction.

The masked person crashes into a large desk across from the door, and the other masked figure has little time to get to their feet and try to restrain this intruder before Ulala slams another first into their jaw, cracking the painted mask. The force send them into the desk, too, and with body bodies crumbling to the floor, the desk collapses. Two large desktop computers crash into a large monitor place between them, glass shattering inside of the screen as the table hits the floor.

The brothers stop when Ulala throws an arm back to give herself some momentum, and she brings a foot violently down on the stomach of the first person she sent to the ground.

“Fuck you!” she spits. “Fuck you and your weird fucking cult!”

“Ulala!” Katsuya calls, and she turns to look at him when he grabs the arm she held up. She glares at him, but puts her foot down, and tugs her arm free. “They’re out— _Jesus_ , you broke their entire system…”

“Good,” she says, dusting her hands. “Not our problem anymore. Where’s Yuka?”

Katsuya looks over his shoulder, across the foyer where Jun is carefully guiding a dizzy Yuka up the stairs. Before he says anything, he sees a man at the corner of the stairs, staring in bewilderment at the five of them. Akinari’s mouth hangs open, and slowly looks over at Jun, who refuses to lift his head.

“Jun,” Akinari almost whispers. Tatsuya sees Ulala crack her already bruised knuckles out from the corner of his eye, and takes a step between her and Jun’s father. Akinari looks at one corner of the foyer, and then towards Jun and Yuka. “What—are you doing? We have to—”

“I’m not doing this anymore,” Jun says, terse. “Papa—Tatsuya is helping us leave. You’re not stopping us.”

Akinari looks over to Tatsuya, amazement and fear coiled together in his eyes. “Suou—I don’t know what to say—”

“I’m not letting you stop me,” he says, clear as the night sky. Akinari finally closes his mouth, and shakes his head to force the shock out of him. Tatsuya can see something gnaw inside him, something like a guilt taking over. He wants to feel bad, but he doesn’t.

“I’m not going to.” He walks towards Tatsuya, and Katsuya steps back into the security room, closer to Ulala, who in turn grabs his hand. “I’m not—I promise, I won’t hurt any of you.”

“Where’s Junko?” Tatsuya asks, moving towards Akinari. “ _Queen_ _Aquarius_? Is she here, too?”

Akinari grimaces, but shakes his head. “No. She’s with… King Leo, at his apartment.”

It’s Tatsuya’s turn to shake his head, but he doesn’t say anything. He looks over to Ulala and Katsuya, beckoning them to follow. Ulala leads Katsuya out of the room, swinging the door shut as best as it can, its hinges damaged. Katsuya leans into Ulala, exhaustion visibly taking its toll over him, as Jun guides a barely conscious Yuka out of the basement’s doorway. When Tatsuya stands in front of Akinari, he looks him in the eye.

“I need to call someone,” he says, and starts to take out his phone. “Our ride out of here.”

The epiphany starts to hit Akinari as Tatsuya moves past him. He stares at Tatsuya, wordless, as he pulls the phone to his ear and waits for Kei to pick up. Tatsuya thinks he hears him mutter his name, but he doesn’t look back, instead exhaling a held breath once he hears the line pick up.

_“Everything alright?”_

“I have them.” Tatsuya opens the front door into the dark Liberty City night. “We’re ready.”


	31. heaven's gate

There are three large, black vans parked in the driveway of the Kurosu estate. The autumn night is far more colder than it was earlier, but when the convoy arrives, Tatsuya is filled with a deep relief that warms him from the inside—something like sitting by a fire and feeling its heat draw over you. He walks towards Kei and Reiji, who climb out of the front seats of one of the vans.

“Good work, Suou,” Kei remarks, and holds out a hand for Tatsuya to take. He clasps Kei’s hand tight, and shakes firmly.

Tatsuya nods. “Thank you.”

Reiji offers a similar gesture, but when Tatsuya takes his hand, Reiji pulls him in for a brief hug, putting an arm around his shoulders. Tatsuya can feel him grin against the side of his head, and when he pulls back, he claps his shoulder once more. “Good to see you. Been long enough.”

Tatsuya finds himself smiling, however slight. “You too.”

Kei seem to roll his eyes, and adjusts his glasses. He looks towards the front door, where Katsuya lingers with Ulala. “Hmm. You and your brother look quite alike.”

Before Tatsuya can reply, the light of the house catches Maya in the dark, who runs up the driveway without even closing her car door. She runs past Tatsuya, almost slamming a shoulder into him, before she throws her arms around Ulala, who in turn buries her face into her shoulders. She’s taller than Maya, and she sways down to hold her tight. Katsuya takes a step back from the two women, and after muttering something Tatsuya can’t hear, he slowly walks down the steps of the front door.

“Captain,” Kei says, holding out his hand to Katsuya. Katsuya almost seems uncertain with what to do, but awkwardly takes Kei’s gestured hand.

“Kei Nanjo?” He asks, almost bewildered. Kei smirks.

“The only one.” He he looks over Katsuya’s shoulder towards the two women, where Maya has now taken Ulala’s hands into her face and strokes budding tears from her eyes, and then returns his eyes to the police captain. “I will be taking you, your girlfriend, the other hostage, and the two Kurosus into my custody until we are able to neutralize the threat of your captors returning.”

Katsuya scratches the back of his head. “You—when did you start helping my brother?”

Kei’s smirk returns. Tatsuya almost can’t believe it even vanished. “It’s quite the story. For now, trust that you will have my assistance until your safety can be ensured.”

“Thank you,” Katsuya replies breathlessly, and pulls his hand away. He glances at Tatsuya with an amazed look in his eye, even through the absolute exhaustion coursing through him. Tatsuya tries to smile something earnest in return, but his attention is taken by a low whistle from Yukino.

“Jesus, Tatsuya,” she says, leading Naoya and Masao into the driveway’s light. “I almost don’t want to imagine how you broke in here.”

Tatsuya glances away from her, past Reiji’s arm that remains around his shoulder. “I would rather you not.”

“And we’re bringing the Kurosus with us?” Yukino asks, almost rhetorically. She looks over to the door, where Jun and Yuka have begun to walk past the embracing women. Tatsuya notices the alarm in Naoya’s eyes, and with Masao right behind him, they hurry over to the two of them. After a moment of lingering, Masao and Jun support Yuka as Naoya kneels, takes the much smaller woman into his arms, and lifts her up. With her legs dangling over his arm, she lazily looks around, eyes squinting into the night.

“Huh,” he can hear her say—and it’s all she says, as Naoya brings her over to Tatsuya, Reiji, and Yukino. Naoya beckons his head to the second van, and Yukino follows alongside him to slide open the door. Yuka’s scraped knees knock together when she’s seated by Naoya, and Tatsuya can hear her grumble a noise of discomfort when Naoya adjusts how her body sits.

“I’m not a little kid,” she protests, “I’m just… real tired. Where’s Maki?”

“Back at home,” Naoya promises her, “She’s waiting for you.”

“Good… I’ve missed her…” Yuka says, half with a yawn. “Close the door, Naoya. The light’s on.”

With as best of a smile as he can, he slides the door shut, as Yuka’s eyes flutter close. The interior light slowly dwindles behind the tinted black glass, as Naoya turns around to the men and Yukino.

“We should get Maya back over here,” Yukino muses, her arms now folded as she watches her. “Get Ulala in the car. Kido—get him caught up, I’ll get them.”

Yukino walks towards the house, adjusting how the bandanna rests over her curly hair. Reiji glances down the driveway and points to the first car, and Tatsuya’s eyes follow.

“You’ve got me, Kurosu, Inaba, and your brother. That girl, Eriko Kirishima, is in the second right now, and she’ll be with all the women.” He tips his head towards the car they stand before, which Masao steps out of the way of. “Toudou’s in the last one with Kurosu’s dad.”

Kei leans against the flank of the third van. “You and I will be in a separate car. We will be driving elsewhere than my building.”

“To where?” Tatsuya asks.

“The King, of course.”

Tatsuya’s expression falls. He can feel Katsuya look towards him, a stare as sharp as ever.

“Tatsuya,” he warns, “Do you remember what I said to you—the last time we saw each other?”

He doesn’t look at Katsuya, initially. But then he does, with a strong stare and a nod of his head. Behind his glasses, and even behind his stern look, Tatsuya can see the concern in his eyes, and the sigh that comes is mournful.

“I’m not going to be able to protect you from what’s to come,” Katsuya admits. “Not whatever is going to happen between you and this… _King._ I mean—”

“I know,” Tatsuya says, shrugging off Reiji and taking a step towards his older brother. “But it’s what has to be done. I have to do this to protect _you.”_

Katsuya closes his mouth. He adjusts his glasses, but then takes them off to try and wipe them with his shirt sleeve. With the glasses off, and the lights behind him, Katsuya looks even older than Tatsuya had ever considered. He feels the weight in his chest come back, but it doesn’t make him bow his head, or look to the side. Katsuya exhales another sigh, and then opens his eyes.

“I can’t condone what you’re doing,” he admits. “But I won’t ever hold it against you. No matter what happens.”

Katsuya puts his glasses on, and then takes a deep breath. Tatsuya can see his hands tremble, like he’s holding something back; another warning, a confession of fear, the despair of condemning his brother to whatever punishment he’ll have to bring down. When Katsuya lifts his head to look ahead into the night, he turns his head to Reiji. “Lead the way, then. I’m ready to go.”

Reiji finally slips his arm off of Tatsuya, putting both arms now on his hips as he walks down the driveway. “C’mon, Inaba. Remember, I’m driving.”

“Whatever you want, boss,” Masao says, fixing his hat and walking not too far behind Katsuya. He turns back to Tatsuya and Naoya, and gives a two finger salute. “See you guys back at the Tower, alright?”

“Of course,” Naoya says, returning the salute. “Thanks for helping, Masao.”

Masao gives a smile, and turns back forward. Ahead, the car doors open, and Tatsuya watches Katsuya’s shadow get into the back seat before closing the door shut. Tatsuya takes a deep breath, and looks up.

“Tired?” Naoya asks, moving from Kei’s right to Tatsuya’s left. Tatsuya nods, almost hesitant.

“This is almost over,” Kei says, pulling out his smartphone. “Yamaoka is making arrangements to escort your brother and the two girls into proper accommodations. I imagine they’d want a real bed to sleep in after so long.”

“I should call Maki,” Naoya muses, but puts an arm around Tatsuya instead, taking the same spot Reiji was lingering in. “Let her know Yuka’s alright.”

Tatsuya finds himself leaning against Naoya. He wants to close his eyes, even while they stand and wait for Yukino to return, even with Kei watching them with cold disinterest, breaking to type something into his phone. Instead, Tatsuya just nods, folding his arms as a breeze sweeps through the neighbourhood.

“Do that on the ride,” Kei replies sternly, not lifting his head from his phone. “We don’t have much time to stand around. I don’t want to draw any more attention from the Circle.”

Kei sits up off of the van, eyes flicking up from his phone for just a moment to look at Tatsuya. “I’m going to my car. Whatever you two want to discuss—do it quickly. I’m only giving you a few minutes.” With that, he turns and walks down the driveway, the light of his phone’s screen illuminating his cold features. Tatsuya glances over to Naoya, who watches Kei.

“He’s annoying.”

Tatsuya’s smile is hardly a smile, something far more tired than he’d want to give Naoya. “Rich people tend to be like that.”

“I guess you’re right.” Naoya looks at Tatsuya, his grin a lot wider than Tatsuya’s. “I can go ask Jun if he’s ready to go, if you want.”

“I can do that,” Tatsuya assures, as they both look over to where Jun stands with his father in the few lights over the closed garage. He can’t hear what they’re discussing—and he figures he shouldn’t try to listen at all. Naoya looks back at him, searching for something in his eyes until Tatsuya focuses his gaze on him. Tatsuya thinks he should say something, but his voice doesn’t come. He takes Naoya’s hand over his shoulder and squeezes it, and it says everything that should, could, and would be said. Naoya nods, understanding.

“Alright,” he says, quietly, “I’m going into the car. Tell Jun’s father to get in when he’s ready.”

“Good luck,” Tatsuya finally says, and Naoya smiles again. He breaks from Tatsuya, and it feels a lot colder with no one on his shoulder. He looks over towards Jun and his father, who glances over at the same time. Tatsuya beckons them over, and it doesn’t take long for them to cross the driveway to join him.

“Akinari. You’ll be riding in this car,” Tatsuya says, gesturing to the car now illuminated from within from Naoya. “With a friend of mine.”

The older man nods, and looks towards the car. “Thank you, Tatsuya.” He presses his hand against Jun’s shoulder one more time before entering the passenger seat, muttering a greeting to Naoya shortly before he closes the door—and pointedly not giving Tatsuya a second glance. Jun keeps his head down, and Tatsuya takes his arm and leads him down the driveway.

“Am I riding with you?” Jun asks. His head is close to his shoulder, and Tatsuya can tell he wants to lean against him.

“I’m afraid not,” Tatsuya replies, and he can hear Jun sigh. “But you’re going to be right behind me. I’m in the car ahead of yours, and you’re with three people I trust immensely.”

“Where’s Maya?”

“In this one.” Tatsuya gestures to the second van, where the shadows inside seem to be Eriko and Yukino in the front seats. “She’ll be behind you. It’s a convoy.”

“I understand.” Jun folds his arms together when they stop in front of the first vehicle, and he keeps his head down. “It’s Kei Nanjo, right?”

Tatsuya nods. Jun hums, but doesn’t seem to think much else of it. In the silence to follow, with Jun’s eyes on the asphalt and Tatsuya’s frame covering him from the wind, Tatsuya leans forward and presses a kiss to Jun’s forehead, through his hair. He can feel the tension ease from Jun, who leans into him for just a moment, cherishing the warmth that settles inside of him.

“Before you go,” Jun says, and when Tatsuya pulls away he can see a smile on his face, even when it begins to fade. “I want to tell you something else.”

“What is it?”

“You already know ‘Leo’ isn’t his name.” Jun lifts his head, and looks up at Tatsuya with a grisly stare. “His real name…”

The passenger door opens behind them. Reiji leans on the seat and beckons Jun in, with an irritated gesture. Jun doesn’t turn around.

“His name is Tatsuya Sudou.”

* * *

The only light inside of Kei’s Tempesta sports car is the illuminated GPS screen, settled above the radio. Tatsuya looks outside of the window at the distant shore, the moon having swayed from the centre of the sky towards the western horizon. The hum of the engine is relaxing, and it puts his heart at ease.

“You’re not asleep, are you?” Kei asks, not looking away from the road. The arrow of the GPS directs them up towards a highway entrance, up the bridge of Broker.

“No,” Tatsuya says, lifting his head up off the window. “I like your car.”

“Pegassi,” Kei answers the question he doesn’t ask, and without looking at him, Tatsuya knows he’s smirking. “I drove this from Los Santos cross country when I got it.”

“Bullshit.”

“Forty-nine hours.”

“You’d never do that. Anyone else, and I’d believe it, maybe.”

Kei laughs—clear, handsome, loud. “I had a meeting with the Kirijos. The head of their family is a fucking _nutjob,_ but the worst part of the trip was realizing my plane ticket was one way.”

“Poor you,” Tatsuya says, remarkably well intentioned. “You didn’t just buy your own plane to get back?”

“Heavens, no. I needed a new car, anyway.” Kei leans against the door, his arm pressed against the window’s ledge. “I wasn’t in the mood to bike cross country, anyway.”

“You know—to be honest, I never thought you, of all people, would ride a motorcycle. It seems too _gritty_ for your tastes.”

“Hardly. Maybe if you can’t afford deluxe bikes.” Kei leans an arm against his window’s base, supporting his head against his hand. “I once raced Mitsuru Kirijo through Algonquin on one of her excursions out here to yell at me.”

“Was she that red haired woman who was in your office when I met you?”

“The very same woman.” He rolls his eyes. “Fucking nightmare, she is.”

Tatsuya slouches against the window again, lazily watching Kei’s profile and how he focuses on the road. “Maybe she just didn’t want to put up with you.”

“I can’t imagine why,” he responds. “Watch it, Suou. Just because I’m driving you—”

“I get it,” Tatsuya yawns. “I’ll _watch it.”_

Kei says something that is cut into by the loud crunch of metal scraping into metal outside of the car. Kei looks over his shoulder for a moment, into the darkness of his car, and Tatsuya gets up off the window. “What’s happening back there?”

Tatsuya’s already pushing the button to roll the window down, and when he leans his head out into the highway he sees the furthest vehicle’s headlights slam into the concrete barrier of the highway ramp. Pushing himself out of the seatbelt, Tatsuya lifts himself higher with wide, unblinking eyes, and catches another vehicle’s lights pressed against the furthest car.

 _“They’re being hit!”_ Tatsuya thinks he calls out, but the wind of the night carries his voice away. He drops back into the car, and casts a horrified look towards Kei, who grips the wheel harder.

“They couldn’t have found us,” Kei muses through grit teeth, “We ensured those guardsmen—Kurosu said they were cut off, that’s his car they’re hitting—”

The scrape of metal is louder with the window open, and when Tatsuya looks out the window once more, the van of the attacker draws away for another violent crash of steel against steel. In moments, the furthest van veers off its course and drives up the concrete barrier, carried on half its wheels. It strikes one of the highway’s service lights, and the force of the impact twists the van over the edge, down into the street below.

He can’t see Naoya when he’s this far ahead. But the sound of the van’s impact could be heard across the city with how his world becomes absolute silence, without wind roaring through his ears. He knows he doesn’t say anything, because his mouth becomes dry and his lungs lose their breath, and when Kei pulls him back into the car with a tug on his jacket he doesn’t realize the wind is gone from his hair.

“Stay in here,” he warns, gripping Tatsuya’s jacket and shaking him once more, _“Fuck—_ stay in the _car,_ Suou, we need to get to that god _damn_ apartment!”

Kei finally releases Tatsuya to grab his phone from a cup holder, frantically looking between the screen and the road while he pushes down harder on the gas, the engine roaring to life and racing down the Algonquin Bridge.

* * *

Reiji has to force himself to keep his eyes on the road, no matter how much he feels the pull to look back at the edge of concrete where Naoya’s van dropped beyond. He does, however, looks to Masao in the passenger seat, who also stares out the window. He can’t see his face, but he imagines how wide his eyes must be, dumbfounded and slack jawed against the pale of night.

“Who the _hell_ talked?!” he roars into the car, making Jun jump in his seat and Masao wince. “Who—Jesus _Christ,_ Inaba, get your fucking gun out!”

Masao, wordless and paralyzed, reaches down towards his feet and fumbles with a black backpack, trying to pull out a pistol. Reiji grits his teeth and pulls the car into the second lane, watching the only other van behind him move up beside him. Distantly, he can see Eriko behind the black glass, turning her head over her shoulder to watch for the attacker on both of their asses.

He can’t hold the gun in steady hands. Reiji rips it out of his hands and puts it in his lap, looking back at Jun and Katsuya. Jun keeps his head low, hands on his head and cowering into his lap, almost rocking himself, while one of Katsuya’s hands steadies him on the shoulder of Reiji’s seat.

“Do you know how to use a gun?” he asks Katsuya, critical.

“Do I know how to—yes, of course I do,” Katsuya sputters, staring at the pistol Reiji hands him, dumbfounded. “You’re not allowed to carry—”

“Shut _up!”_ He shouts over him, and pushes it into his chest before turning around. “Open your window and aim for their tires or something! _God!”_

Katsuya fumbles with the gun as well, but soon presses it between both hands and glances over his shoulder, through the rear view window. To his right, his own window opens, Reiji forcibly opening it with a button on his door. Katsuya looks out, as the moonlight causes the Algonquin Bridge to cast an even darker shadow over the van. Gripping the handle above the door with one hand, Katsuya takes as careful of an aim as he can, and fires two, three, four shots.

One misses. Two hit off the fender of the van encroaching on his own. The fourth scrapes against the wheel when the van veers from the incoming shots, but he doesn’t think it breaks it.

Reiji shouts something again. Katsuya grits his teeth and aims higher, and keeps himself from closing his eyes when he fires into the driver seat. He only sees the hole in the windshield before the van takes a sudden sharp turn, slamming into the steel and concrete barrier of the bridge and spinning out. The gun feels hot in his hands from the sweat, even as the wind cuts through him. Katsuya drops back into his seat, the gun held in his limp arm.

He hurriedly locks the safety before dropping his arm again. Reiji sees and clicks his tongue. “Fucking _cops.”_

Jun lifts his head, and though they are far down the highway bridge, he looks back, beyond the wreckage. His mouth hangs open, a quivering lowering lip as he watches the darkness of rising smoke disappear into the night as they race further and further away. “Father…”

Reiji grips the wheel hard again, a furious sickness burning the back of his mouth. “Someone found out. I’m going to kill whoever did it.”

Masao looks towards Reiji, fearfully. “You—you’re not turnin’ around for him?”

“I want to,” Reiji grunts, leaning forward to brace himself against the wheel. "I _want_ to—”

“Then do it!” Masao cries with a rush of terror, grabbing Reiji’s arm. The van swerves momentarily, but Reiji elbows him off. “C-C’mon, boss! Naoya’s down there! Jun’s old man is down there! There’s a part of the bridge that lets’ya turn around, right?!”

Katsuya reaches forward and puts a hand on Reiji’s shoulder, viciously catching the man’s attention.

“Turn around and leave me there,” he says. “Get everyone else to the Nanjo Tower.”

“I’m not supposed to do that,” Reiji says, almost sneering. Katsuya frowns so sternly, it reminds Reiji of Tatsuya.

“If you want your friend alive, you do as I say,” Katsuya says, gravely. “No matter who you think might have called already, do you _want_ to take that kind of chance?”

Reiji tries to say something, but closes his mouth, teeth pressed together. With a violent glare of his own, he cuts a sharp and sudden turn, the wheels of the van skidding against the road as the van spins. Masao and Jun brace themselves against their doors, and against his shoulder Reiji can feel Katsuya grip tight, nails in his coat. Immediately, the van is over the bridge’s median, and then he floors it to go back down the right lane, immediately turning on to the exit that greets those leaving Algonquin.

“Give me your phone,” Katsuya also says. He braces himself against the seat when the car veers to the right on the ramp. “I suppose the nearest department’s going to find out I’m alive this way.”

Reiji’s eyes linger on the road for a moment, before furiously picking his phone out of his pocket and swiping it open. “Don’t even think about going through it.”

Katsuya, momentarily, rolls his eyes. He opens the calling application and punches in the emergency number, looking out the window to the passing concrete barriers as the view of Broker’s downtown streets come into view. “This is Captain Katsuya Suou. I have a vehicle crash beneath the Algonquin Bridge in Outlook. I am currently clarifying the exact street—yes, _Captain_ Suou—”

Masao rolls the window down and leans out of it. Jun’s hands sink down his face, mouth covered and a vacant, terrified stare gazing into nothing between his split fingers. Reiji takes a deep breath, and as they reach the ground, he can smell distant smoke filtering through the window.

* * *

 

Kei stomps his foot into the brake pedal. His car grinds to a halt at the foot of a familiar apartment complex, and it’s when he leans into the back seating of his car that Tatsuya can shake himself free from the stupor that came over him. He watches Kei lift a large black case from the floor of the car, heaving it over the centre compartment and across his lap. Its large, bulky exterior stretches against Tatsuya’s own legs, and he already knows the kind of guns he’s about to be staring at before Kei pops open the locks.

Two shotguns sit in the black foam. Kei takes one and forces it into Tatsuya’s hands, who fumbles to catch it by the pistol shaped grip. He watches Kei break open a packed in red box for the shells, and he feels disbelief start to creep up on him.

“Do you know how to use this?” he asks, warily. Kei looks at him, and his eyes cut sharp through Tatsuya.

“Yes,” he says, and Tatsuya knows that tone of voice is something like a story. Kei pushes his remaining shells into a tactical strap on the shotgun, and pulls the action pump once to assure himself. “Hurry up. If we take too long, he’ll get away.”

“There’s going to be people in there,” Tatsuya says, remarkably calm, though he feels terror bite in the back of his mouth, right over his tongue. _“Innocent_ people, Kei.”

“I know,” he says, and looks into the illuminated entrance of Middle Park’s most beautiful complex, through the tinted black windows that cannot hide its crystal chandelier lights. “I’m not like your friend, Suou. I know how to behave.”

“Sure,” Tatsuya says without thinking, but Kei doesn’t respond. He breaks open the second carton of shells pushed his way, and he grips on to the loaded round in his palm, clutching it tight. “We better go back, Kei. They’re going to take him to a Broker hospital—”

“Eriko will call one of my doctors,” Kei says, examining how he’s set up his gun. He aims down the street, finger off the trigger. “She knows what to do.”

“She doesn’t know if he’s alive,” he laments, his voice threatening to collapse. _“You_ don’t know if he’s alive, we’ll have to—get over there, once we kill whoever’s up there.”

Tatsuya fumbles putting a shell in, and scrapes his thumb against the chamber’s frame. He breathes in deep, and the brief tremble in the air makes Kei look at Tatsuya once again, lowering the weapon back down against the case. Tatsuya doesn’t lift his head, because he knows the look Kei is giving him, but when he feels Kei’s hand reach his shoulder, he finally turns to watch something like sympathy.

“We’ll make him pay,” Kei says gravely, yet steady and reassuring, something strong; like the cut of diamond. Tatsuya looks through his glasses and the reflection of the light behind them, and notices the wearing shadows of tear troughs under his eyes, and it makes him look older. Much older. Tatsuya lowers his head, and puts the shell he dropped back into the chamber.

“I’m right behind you,” he says, and Kei opens his door to step out into the vicious autumn night.


	32. fall of a king

The light within illuminates the fury in Kei’s eyes when he pulls open the glass door and lifts his shotgun.

In front of them, across an embroidered black carpet laced with brilliant gold, is a woman behind the concierge desk, who immediately reaches for something under her desk. Kei rises his shotgun and stomps towards her desk, and calls out - “Puts your hands where I can see them! Now!”

The woman immediately raises her arms struck with growing terror as Kei approaches her without lowering the gun. She’s young. Maybe a few years younger than Tatsuya. She flinches when he pushes against the dark wood of the desk, and he strains his grip on the gun. Tatsuya glances towards Kei, and extends a hand towards him, off of his shotgun’s barrel. “Kei.”

“I know,” Kei remarks, sharp and vicious. He gestures towards the gate of the desk. “Move. Keep your hands on your head and walk.”

She moves. Kei keeps the gun trained on her, but Tatsuya aims elsewhere, looking around for any response. The lobby is silent, as even the woman’s sharp breathing is muted by the grandiosity of the tall ceiling. The walls are painted white with golden paint, and the furniture and decorations are elegant in contrast, rich black with beautiful gold. Tatsuya keeps looking around even as Kei speaks again, mercy absent.

“What floor is your boss on?” Kei demands, and presses the elevator button. The gun doesn’t move from her shoulder. “Top floor?”

The woman nods.

“Get in with us. Push the button, then sit down.”

The door opens, immediate. The three step inside, and the woman does as she is told - presses the penthouse button before lowering to her knees, hands on her head and against the steel panel below the myriad of buttons inside the elevator. Kei finally lowers his weapon, but it remains close to the younger woman’s head, as he looks over to Tatsuya. The elevator trembles with its ascent, and then, it is quiet.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Kei abruptly warns, and Tatsuya narrows his eyes.

“Don’t hurt innocent people.”

“It’s what necessary. I’m not going to kill her unless she does something.” Kei looks down at the woman, with a violently cold resolve. Then, he turns his head away, avoiding Tatsuya’s critical eye. “What was the layout of the apartment like?”

Tatsuya stares at him, incredulous, before recalling back to the expansive interior of the penthouse. “It’s the whole floor. The main office is down a hallway directly in front of you.”

“Did you go anywhere else?”

“No. I’m not sure where his bedroom might be, or the kitchens, or—”

“That’s fine,” Kei interrupts, lifting the gun to examine it, checking on the magazine chamber. “If he’s not in his office, then he’ll be in one of his bedrooms. He doesn’t seem the type to hole up in a bathroom.”

Tatsuya looks at the floors—nine, ten, eleven. He exhales quietly, and steps back a few steps, away from Kei. The woman on the ground speaks.

“Are you—Kei Nanjo?” she asks, warily.

He looks down at her, glaring through his glasses. “Maybe. Who are you?”

“Chisato,” she admits, her head ducking back down. “Ch—Chisato Kasai.”

Tatsuya recognizes her. She’s friends with Maki. Friends, once was friends. Her uniform is all black with a lapel pin in brilliant gold, shaped like a mask. For a moment, he finds himself wondering why Sudou doesn’t have his concierge wearing those terrifying masks, but maybe there’s enough people in the building who aren’t inducted yet. But he finds that almost hard to believe.

Kei kneels down, and Chisato flinches. It’s only when she realizes he’s not aiming his gun at her anymore that she lifts her head, shoulders hackled and body tense. Kei looks through her.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he says, with a tone of voice that is so terrifically careful that you almost think he’s lying. “When we leave, you will be free to go. If you try and stop us, I will put a bullet through your chest. Do you understand?”

Chisato nods. Her fingers curl against her suit pants. “I promise, mister Nanjo, I promise I won’t—”

“You don’t have to keep talking,” Kei interrupts once more, rising to his feet and looking at the elevator floor screen as the elevator sways and comes to a complete stop. The door opens with a delicate ring, and Tatsuya lifts his gun while Kei guides Chisato to her feet. Nobody greets them. The apartment is wholly silent, with every door in the foyer shut. The lights are off, beautiful white walls an unsettling shadow that spills in from the city’s night.

Kei grabs Chisato’s shoulder and guides her forward, shotgun barrel pressed into her back. He guides both her and Tatsuya forward, down the lengthy hallway to the distant door, an outline of light spilling from behind. Each careful step echoes between the three of them, Chsiato’s anxious shuffle the uneven pace between the quiet, measured footsteps of Kei and Tatsuya. Kei’s eyes stay focussed ahead, but Tatsuya feels an uncertainty creep up inside his chest, and every movement forward tightens the pain into something worse, until they stand before the office.

Chisato opens it without having to be told. Inside, the lights are on, and the desk is empty.

Tatsuya steps inside first, aiming his weapon. The bookshelves are full, the carpet has been vacuumed, and the curtains are bound shut by a thick, hand-woven black rope. Kei leads Chisato in and pushes her into an armchair, and holds his shotgun towards her. He looks over at Tatsuya.

“You look around.” He drums his fingers on the shotgun pump. “I’ll keep her still.”

The girl lowers her head and covers herself with her hands. Tatsuya looks carefully between Kei and Chisato, with a glare full of warning and intent, before stepping over to Sudou’s desk. The draws have keyholes, but are unlocked when he pulls on them, opening to reveal only office supplies and clutter. A notepad sits beneath an empty folder, but its pages too are empty, unused in the years it has most likely been buried beneath the King’s business. Two larger drawers take up the desk’s space beneath those, but they have been emptied completely, without even a post-it note to examine.

“He’s cleared this out,” Tatsuya remarks, getting up off his knees. “I don’t know if he’s here.”

Kei looks away from Tatsuya, fury and frustration beginning to cloud his expression. He drums his fingers again, and then looks towards the door they came from. “Go search the apartment. I’ll continue looking here. I need to make a call.”

The edge to his voice makes Tatsuya exit quickly, sparing Chisato a sympathetic glance, even when his eye catches the mask pin on her lapel, its curved slit of a smile watching him. Into the shadows, Tatsuya reaches for his phone and turns on the flashlight from the camera, and holds it as best he can with the shotgun in his other hand. It’s easier with a pistol.

His steps are careful. He tries the doors leading towards the master’s office, but they are locked. When he reaches the elevator, he glances to his right, and strains his eyes to see in the darkness, eyes roaming past wherever the light aims. Further down the foyer is the entrance to a kitchen, but the wide open windows that watch the city’s skyline show him nothing moving in the shadows. When Tatsuya walks towards the kitchen anyway, his gaze roams now to his left, down the hall.

He remembers Jun walking down this dark corridor, towards what could have been a bedroom. Cautiously, he steps off the kitchen marble tile, and begins his venture.

There’s a carpet that runs down the centre length once past the decorative archway of the bedroom wing. It muffles his steps, dragging his shoes through the plush carpet that. There are doors that he periodically steps past, and each of them open. One is empty, with nondescript bedsheets that indicate it is most likely a guest bedroom. The lights turn on when he flicks the lightswitch, but the curtains remain shut and the closet is open, empty. When he leaves, he keeps the door open.

The second bedroom belongs to a man. When he turns the lights on, he sees a photograph of Akinari Kashihara and Jun, though Jun appears to be in high school. Tatsuya opens the closet, and the suits are all red, with small boxes above on the shelf that seem sealed shut. Looking over his shoulder at the made bed, Tatsuya’s brow furrows, and he is troubled at the overturned photograph on the bedside table.

He already knows what to expect when he lifts it up and sees Junko Kurosu in a beautiful aquamarine gown, taken however many years ago. A ghost tells him to put it down, so he does. There is nothing else to see here. Tatsuya leaves the door open once more.

A third bedroom. The carpet is softer, and the walls are the same delicate shade in Jun’s room of the mansion. A discomfort crawls up Tatsuya’s spine, like scraping your nails down a rusted surface—secrets that linger, however dangerous or simple, in the shadows cast by night. Tatsuya doesn’t want to turn the lights on, because a part of him thinks he’ll see Jun on the bed or at the window, and he’ll ask Tatsuya why he’s in his room at night.

The flashlight catches sight of an arrangement of succulents on the windowsill, the curtains open, and they are centered by a sunflower in a planter. Its petals greet the sky, and he feels something he can’t describe. Pity. Self-awareness.

Between the carpet of the room and hallway is wooden floor. It’s small, but wide enough that when his foot steps down, it gently sighs beneath the weight. Tatsuya grits his teeth behind a closed mouth, and steps over to the door directly across from Jun’s room. A bathroom. Empty, its shower stall hanging open. The damp air spills into the hallway, and follows Tatsuya as he enters the fourth room. A master bedroom, sprawling in size and more grand than the others.

The bed is large, plush, and unmade. Tatsuya feels an anger bubble inside of him as he presses his hand against the wall, searching for the bedroom light. He walks along the wall, hand running against the paint for the lightswitch, when suddenly—there is a violent pain and the wet sound of flesh being torn.

Hot, searing hot pain shoots through his outstretched arm and he drops his phone, landing on its screen and shining its light into the room. He is momentarily blinded by the beam before he grabs his arm, dropping the weapon to grip the curve of his elbow as blood seeps against his hand. Tatsuya gasps several times as his hand twitches, and in those moments when he lifts his head he catches a glimpse of black hair and the flash of steel. The knife plunges deep into his left shoulder, and the grunts and gasps rip into a scream as his assailant throws him to the floor, their body crashing on top of him.

The knife sits deep inside of him, their grip on it lingering only to twist it through bone and flesh. Their second hand grabs his throat, and soon both come together to squeeze tight, silencing the scream and strangling it into weak, painful gasps. Tatsuya tries to grab their wrists, but bending his left arm tears the wound around the knife even more, and the constricting nature of his jacket makes his arm ache. His phone’s light cannot reveal his assailant from behind, but a woman’s voice slips into his hearing even through the struggle, and it is vicious, poisonous, and familiar.

“You were a liability from the start,” Junko heaves, her acrylic nails digging sharply into Tatsuya’s neck. She’s heavy, especially when she pushes down on his windpipe and digs her knees into his chest. “I _told_ Sudou, don’t _bother,_ he isn't worth the _risk.”_

Junko’s voice is the only thing he can parse, and even then she fades between the blood in his ears, the pounding in his skull, and the frenzy of spit and cut breathing in Tatsuya’s mouth. Her laugh, though—her sultry, dark laugh is clear as the city’s sky.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll kill you and go meet him elsewhere. Find my brat that you’ve been trying to fuck and take us to Florida.” In the darkness, his dying mind swears he sees her eye glint. “I'll have to give him a proper thank you, later...”

Tatsuya’s hands slip and drop to the carpet. The dark room swims into static and thick haze, vision and hearing slurring together into something incomprehensible, as incomprehensible as death often is. Junko’s hands strain, but the struggle stalls and his lungs begin to ache, but it fades, it is fading.

There is light. The shotgun blast is distant, hazy, and he doesn’t know who lingers over him until he can feel a hand on his cheek. The acrid smell of fresh blood and a spent shell sting his nostrils, but it starts to draw him back to focus. The pain returns, and it too is welcome, as his mind wakes up.

Someone speaks. His saviour is saying something, and the colours begin to form—black hair, black suit, large circles that form to glass, crystal, affluence. Kei has dropped his weapon and it makes a dull thud against the carpet, in exchange to press down on his chest. Hot pain sears through Tatsuya’s body once more, but his mind doesn’t rip him to life until the air suddenly catches in his lungs. The forced breathing cuts to a heaving cough. Kei pulls Tatsuya into his kneeling lap. He says something again that Tatsuya can’t parse.

Tatsuya turns his head. Blood spreads across the carpet from Junko’s head, bits of her skull scattered in the rich crimson spilling under her body. Under her mane of beautiful black hair, the haze clears and he sees blood, gore and a mess of brain and eye. He thinks he says something like _you killed her._ Kei speaks again, and he can hear him.

“I had to,” he says, and it is a simple truth, a violent truth that he can taste on his tongue through the blood and saliva. Slowly, Kei begins to lead Tatsuya into a sitting position, and though Tatsuya’s head sways and he leans it against Kei’s chest, he can still bring himself to grip the wound in his shoulder, hand hanging useless as blood drips down into his palm. Kei looks at something in the room, and then holds Tatsuya differently, an arm more solid on his back.

“Up,” he urges. Tatsuya’s legs are weak, but he stands long enough that Kei can bring him to the edge of Sudou’s bed, past Junko’s still warm corpse. Kei disappears for a moment, and Tatsuya manages to keep his head steady and his body upright when he returns with something pulled from the master bathroom.

“Fuck, I don’t know how to do this…” Kei curses, dropping large rolls of gauze pulled from a medicine cabinet, or from under the sink. “Coat off—Jesus Christ, what kind of knife is that, a fucking trench knife? Sit still, I can’t disinfect it right now—”

Wet warmth presses against his body when the gauze is pressed. Tatsuya looks at Kei dilligently wrapping the already wet bandages around the deep wound in his arm, and somewhere, inside of the part of his mind that still thinks about Redwood cigarettes on a Vice City beach, he has enough time to think about how Kei Nanjo would probably never dress anyone else’s wounds. He can tell this to his kids some day.

The gauze is bound fairly tightly around his arm, held down by elastic-type pins. The wound on his shoulder stumps Kei, who holds out a dressing patch that is far too small to cover the twisted wound Junko left him. Tatsuya looks at the patch, then at Kei, before he shakes his head.

“Not enough time,” Tatsuya says, and presses the palm of his hand against the wound, his torn shirt stalling the bleeding. “We have to go.”

“Go?” Kei asks, almost dumbly. Then, as quick as the weakness came, he realizes. _“Sudou?_ Jesus Christ, Tatsuya, you’re going to bleed out before we find him. I have Eriko organizing a search—”

“You said,” Tatsuya says, standing up, “we were going to kill him. I want to kill him.”

Kei’s stare is hard, horrified, and loud. He watches Tatsuya grab his jacket and pull his good arm through his sleeve, its shoulders hanging over his bleeding arm when he pulls together the two buttons at the peak of the collar. Kei only moves when Tatsuya steps over Junko’s body and retrieves his phone, then his shotgun.

“His mistress tries to kill you, now you’re on board with killing him?” Kei remarks, almost incredulous. “If that’s what it takes to strengthen your resolve—”

“Where is he?” Tatsuya asks, loosely holding on to his weapon once he’s back on his feet. “Eriko is looking for him.”

Kei purses his lips, and furrows his brow. “She organized my personnel to find him. There is a chance he is travelling to the airport.”

“Take me there.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Bring me to him.”

“You sound fucking insane,” Kei says, grabbing Tatsuya’s arm abruptly, enough to shake the shotgun hanging loose from his hand. “Think _logically._ I drive you to the fucking airport—even forgetting that I have _guns in my car,_ you’d be dead within the hour. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Tatsuya rips his hand from Kei’s grip, and goes for the shotgun again. Kei puts his foot on the barrel of the gun, and forces Tatsuya back up. With a forceful shove, the Nanjo scion pushes Tatsuya into the wall, making him grimace in pain and hiss through his grit teeth.

“Don’t be an idiot!” Kei yells, both hands pressing Tatsuya against the wall. “Do you know what trench knives like that were for?! They’re meant to rip you apart from the inside out! If you were stabbed in the stomach, you’d be dead already!”

“Let go of me,” Tatsuya spits, pushing against Kei with one hand. “Don’t— _touch me like that,_ I can feel it bleeding—”

Kei sighs, roughly, and releases him. He kneels down himself to take the gun, but doesn’t hand it to Tatsuya. “We have to go. I’ll argue with you in the car. Did you find anything?”

Tatsuya looks at Junko’s body. The air is warm, uncomfortably so, and it worsens when he looks at her sprawled out on her side, her arms tangled together and spread above her head. When he breathes in, he tastes only blood and smoke.

He lifts his head at the same time Kei does. They catch the other’s eye for only a moment before they turn their heads down the hall. The lights are off, but it is illuminated by the sparks of a distant flame in both the kitchen and the other halls.

“The girl,” Kei whispers, like the epiphany dances on his tongue. He immediately grabs Tatsuya’s good arm and pulls him down the hallway as fast as he can. Before they walk into the fear’s reality, the younger woman turns the corner, stopping both men halfway between the corpse and the exit. In her right hand, Chisato holds a long lighter, meant for fire pits. In her other hand, a gun.

“I failed Queen Aquarius,” she says, a lament for only the air and growing smoke, and not for the men she stands before. “I failed, and you killed her. The King will not forgive me.”

“Out of the way,” Kei warns, and releases Tatsuya’s hand to lift the shotgun once more, aiming it towards the girl. Unlike her demeanour before, Chisato does not flinch, but merely drops the lighter.

“It doesn’t matter if you kill me,” she admits, “For I am already dead in the eye of the Mask.”

“So you just set your headquarters on fire?” Kei asks, sarcastic. “You cultists are so fucking dramatic.”

Chisato stares past Kei, into Tatsuya’s eyes, and she slowly blinks. “I will burn the resting place of Queen Aquarius, and take her killers with it. You two, and myself. The two enemies of the Circle will die with her. Nanjo, Suou, and Kasai.”

Kei pulls back the shotgun pump, clearing the chamber. He takes a few steps forward to strengthen the shot, when Chisato suddenly lifts the pistol to her temple.

“He was watching,” she continues her lament, “He saw my failure. But he will be pleased with your deaths.”

Tatsuya opens his eyes wider. “Sudou’s still here.”

Chisato scrunches up her nose in a disgusted grimace, like he’s not worth saying his name. Fire unites behind her, between the kitchen and the foyer, but if it licks at her heels and singes her ankles, Chisato doesn’t flinch. “May you two be granted mercy you do not deserve, but may receive by the Mask’s kindness.”

The bullet rips through her skull, and the growing flames behind her illuminate the red mist that sprays from her head as she collapses against the wall. Kei lowers the gun when the shot fires, pulled from his anger in unexpected horror. He looks back at Tatsuya for only a moment, before grabbing his sleeve and pulling him along.

He curses. Several times.

“Fuck, Christ, _Jesus Christ_ don’t touch her—” Kei mutters in a hurry when he steps over the dead body of Chisato, stopping for only a moment when fire dances under his feet. Smoke begins to fill the air above them, and so close to the spreading flames makes it hard for Tatsuya to keep his eyes open and his already weak lungs clear. He steps closer to Kei, who has to guide them throw a small path against the wall that has not yet been claimed by fire.

The carpet carries the flames through the whole penthouse. It has not yet consumed the farther wing, and Tatsuya braces himself against Kei when they step through swells and patches of dense fire, burning the underside of their feet. Tatsuya drops himself against Kei, his lung burning like the walls and books and papers, and Kei quickly grabs him and slips himself under Tatsuya’s steady arm, dragging him through the final barrier of fire.

“I’ve got you,” he says, determined and distant, like it’s a set of words that shouldn’t linger on Kei Nanjo’s tongue. Tatsuya struggles to keep his eyes open, between fire and flames that follow them and the pain of burns and tearing wounds. Down the length of unfamiliar hallway, there is a door painted to be like the others, but is notably steel. Kei shoulders it open, and the fire escape is nondescript and free of smoke.

“Where’s the fire alarm?” Kei questions, but Tatsuya can’t bring his body to respond. He slouches against Kei, trying his best to match Kei’s steps down the long stairwell as his legs threaten to give. Cracking his head on concrete is a worse way to die than at the hands of a cult leader’s mistress, if he is to be honest in an hour like this.

How many floors? Why does no one flee through the fire escape with them, crowding their escape with cultists and devotees? In his throat, the smoke lingers, and Tatsuya coughs to clear it. Kei says something that sounds like a suggestion they’re killing themselves, but Tatsuya doesn’t think he believes it. He thinks, instead, about what door Sudou could be behind, what camera is following them, where he was hiding when Junko came to kill him. Was he in a separate room, just steps before the fire escape, whispering words to Chisato and commanding her to kill? On the roof, on the floor below, on the other side of the country?

Tatsuya thinks about the manhunt he’ll bring. He also thinks about killing Sudou in the lobby. His mind’s racing, but it’s the only thing truly keeping him awake right now. His feet touch a surface that feels different than concrete, and Tatsuya opens his heavy eyes to the marble floor, and Kei shouldering open the fire escape.

Kei drags him to the foyer, where silence continues to follow them. But in Tatsuya’s head, his pulse beats and the dreams of blood keep him awake. He takes large steps with Kei, and he leads the scion forward, towards the front door.

“Slow down,” Kei hisses, pulling back on Tatsuya’s jacket. “I can’t keep up when I’m stomping on your ankles.”

“We have to find him,” Tatsuya says, and Kei’s sharp sigh is interrupted when Tatsuya suddenly stands up, stumbling out of his grasp. “Outside! Look!”

A car, farther in the street and past Kei’s car, shadowed by the distant light, rips through the street. He doesn’t know where the garage could be. He grabs Kei and pulls him outside, the rush of energy hitting him with the cold October night.

“Drive!” he commands, and Kei doesn’t open his mouth to argue when Tatsuya drops himself in the passenger seat and slams the door shut. The car wakes immediately and tears through the street, as Tatsuya watches a distant set of lights begin to draw closer.

Blood in his skull beats louder. He leans back in his seat out of his injury’s obligation, but he keeps his head up, with laboured breathing. Tatsuya presses his hand against his shoulder once more, feeling the swell of pain before it ebbs into something more still. He takes a deep breath so he can speak. “Don’t lose him.”

“I won’t,” Kei says, and it’s a promise. To the unexpected, his phone suddenly rings—he offers it only one confused glance before looking back to the road, cutting past cars lingering in the street. “Answer that. I don’t recognize the number.”

Hazily, Tatsuya picks up the phone and holds it to his ear, and speaks with uncertainty. “Hello?”

 _“Tatsuya,”_ Reiji says, and Tatsuya wonders about the part of him that expected Sudou’s cold, powerful voice to be on the other end of the line. _“Glad it’s you. Your brother’s got Toudou. He’s alive.”_

“Where are you?” Tatsuya asks, and feels his heart leap against his chest. “Naoya’s—how is Jun’s father?”

_“He didn’t—he didn’t make it. He was dead when the ambulances got there. Toudou’s—Naoya’s alive.”_

Tatsuya feels his teeth chatter. It might be hysteria. He tries to lift his wounded hand to his mouth to calm himself, but it aches too much, and drops across his lap. Reiji continues. _“Where are you? Nanjo’s driving?”_

“We’ve found him,” Tatsuya says, and grimaces in pain when Kei swerves them right, taking a sharp corner. “Sudou, I mean—Reiji, I’ll have to call you back—”

_“No, don’t,” _he says, and he can hear an engine roar on his end. _“You’re chasing him? How far are you?”___

Tatsuya looks at Kei, who doesn’t offer him a glance. He looks to the road, but the tension in his chest distracts him long enough he can’t parse a distance. “We’re—we’re close. We’re closing in.”

_“Good. I’m here.”_

Sudou is, most likely, two cars ahead. The stretch of Star Junction illuminates the interior of Kei’s car as the buildings draw past them. Both taxis and late night civilian cars alike barely have time to move past when Sudou and Kei cut past them, turns so precise clips of their vehicles have to be scraping together. The music and chatter of Star Junction doesn’t filter through the closed windows as they may any other night, for only the sound of metal meeting metal breaks the brilliant beauty of the Junction when a car plows into Sudou’s, slamming it off the road and into the center crosswalk. Kei almost screams when the crash cuts across his vision, and has enough time to slam on the breaks before he meets the back end of a parked car.

Reiji’s call cuts out. Tatsuya feels his jaw tremble, and he stares at the wreckage swell with the beginnings of black engine smoke just a few steps past. Kei looks over at Tatsuya, with just as wide eyes.

“… Open the glove box,” Kei says, slowly. Tatsuya does so without even questioning, though his mind remains numb and the silence of the city starts to catch up to him. Inside is a pistol. Tatsuya takes it, and feels the gun fit comfortably in his hand. His bloody hand wraps peacefully, perfectly around the grip, and this is how it should be.

Kei looks out the front window. The assailant car’s door opens, and Reiji shakily steps out before dropping to the ground on his knees, his curly hair a mess in front of his face. From around the corner of his car stumbles Sudou, who stands battered above him. A fear that commands Tatsuya not allow Reiji to be lost too, so he stands out of the car, gun in hand, and he screams.

 _“Tatsuya Sudou!”_ Tatsuya Suou calls into the night, and it makes the King freeze.

Sudou slowly turns his head, and blood stains his aged face. His silver-blond hair is not unlike a lion’s mane, but it lacks the grandiose of his mask’s mane. It is cut more sharply, and stretches only to his shoulders. As Tatsuya approaches him, he can see where glass tore his skin from broken windows, and his mouth has begun to bleed. He turns away from Reiji completely, who lays half-awake at his feet, and he grins bloody teeth to his hunter.

“I was hoping she’d have killed you,” Sudou says, and steps back from the approaching man. “Hoping that was just Nanjo on my ass. Someone’s going to have to try harder.”

Tatsuya pulls the safety off the pistol. He can feel there are bullets inside. It feels right.

Sudou stands on the edge between the curb and the road. A car is parked to his right, and shelters him from the traffic that lingers, watchful. “I could have forgiven this transgression. Sabotage, failure to do as I asked… I could have forgiven you by hand of my Mask.”

“I know what you did. What you have done.” Tatsuya’s grip on the gun tightens. “What kind of person you are.”

“What kind of _person_ I am?” Sudou repeats, almost laughing. “In this city, I am more than just a _person,_ or a _businessman,_ or a _king._ I am _unstoppable._ What kind of _person_ leads as I do?”

“I would never have listened to you,” Tatsuya spits. “Your indoctrination is beyond me. I can’t overlook anything—I could never forgive that.”

“Do you think your brother can forgive what you’ve done? That the lives you ruined will just go back to normal? I can live with what I’ve done, as I am a king of my own creation.” Sudou opens his arms wide to gesture towards Tatsuya. His right arm is broken, and bends in his sleeve wrong. “You? You are just a man. A man who cannot decide if he is good or if he is evil. Men like you cannot deal with the consequences of their actions.”

He laughs once again. Tatsuya lifts the gun and shoots him in the knee, and when Sudou screams, he continues to laugh, dropping to his knee and heaving in the pain.

“What _good man_ cannot even kill someone justly?” Sudou rasps, and stares at Tatsuya as he approaches. Tatsuya momentarily sees Reiji settle on his knees and crawl on the concrete, watching him pass. Blood continues to drip from Tatsuya’s hands.

“I can live with what I’ve done,” Tatsuya says, as clear as the night sky. “You couldn’t teach me that, either.”

“Then I will teach you this, instead: killing me changes nothing in this city. The Circle lives. Men kill men every day. Violence consumed this city long ago. What conclusion do you wish to seek by killing me? Some selfish resolution?”

Tatsuya watches him. He does not linger on contempt, though that does poison his eyes and swims in his head. He does not linger on horror, either, though he feels its claws reach within his chest and threatens to pull him into some sort of despair created epiphany. What he does linger on is silence, like he’s weighing the words of a demon before him. “It’ll make me feel better, yes.”

Sudou laughs again. Far more shorter this time. “Ah, what a selfish man you truly are.”

“Tell me who told you I was coming.”

He leans forward on his knees. The blood from his forehead and mouth drip down his chin. “Someone very dear to you.”

Tatsuya pulls the trigger and breaks his skull open with a bullet.

There are screams. Those who watch onwards from the distant sidewalks seize in panic, some scattering, some remaining still. The cars that lingered roar with engine life and drive away, like the single bullet broke the city. Tatsuya lets his arms drop, both hanging at his side and gripping the pistol for as long as he feels he is able. Lowering his head, he can see the pool of blood begin to form around Sudou’s skull when he crashed forward, spilling on to the concrete and creeping towards one of the grates that ventilate the subway systems of Liberty City.

As the screams linger, sirens begin to swell in volume. Tatsuya only lifts his head when an array of bright white lights surround him, and he looks over his shoulder at the approaching officers. Past the uniformed wall, he notes there is no car on the curb anymore.

Someone approaches Reiji, but he can’t see what they do to him. Instead, he looks at the officer in front of the armed response, and looks into the mournful eye of Shiori without guilt.

“Tatsuya Suou,” she says—and she is wary, she is tired, she is horrified, “Lower your weapon and put your hands on your head.”

Tatsuya stalls before he does as she says. He lowers the gun to the ground, and his hands feel emptier without it. Shiori herself approaches him, and lead his raised hand down behind his back. His shoulder tears and the pain is worse than any broken bone, yet he makes no sound, no flinch. Shiori sees the blood swell beneath his shirt.

“You are under arrest,” Shiori says, “For—assault with a weapon, murder, speeding violation—”

Tatsuya looks at her over his shoulder. She grits her teeth and glares at him, the pity vanishing.

“You have the right to an attorney. If you do not have an attorney, one will be appointed to you.” She looks at the wound in his arm once more. “Medical attention will be provided to you. On your feet. Now.”

Tatsuya gives Sudou’s body one final look before he is ushered to the police car behind him.


	33. the boy with the earring

He’s been in the interrogation rooms before, plenty of times. But the white walls and large square table tucked in the corner of the room looks different when he’s pressed between the chair and the wall. Looks, feels. Tatsuya keeps his eyes straight, but doesn’t look up from the paper cup of water in front of him, and the documents spread across, neatly organized, typed by marked in a bright red ink.

His lawyer is his age, allegedly. She looks younger, but maybe that’s her haircut and her glasses. She has her eyes down, like him, but she’s reading the top page of a thick stack of paper pulled from a beige folder. She bites the cap of her pen, which fits snug around her pen’s bottom. The woman bounces her leg under the desk, and she writes something on the page he doesn’t pay attention to.

“It’s tough, figuring this out without much time,” she admits, opening her phone’s calendar next to her. “This is more or less stacked charges against your original hearing, Tatsuya.”

Tatsuya doesn’t respond.

She fixes her glasses, large and round. The pen fits between her teeth again for just a moment as she looks across at him, pensive. “Did you get a chance to write anything down about the other night?”

He’s silent.

“Tatsuya.”

“No, I didn’t.” Tatsuya looks off the table, to the corner of the room he’s never looked at before. The woman huffs, tersely. “Did you talk to Reiji?”

“Mister Kido’s been in the hospital ever since the crash,” she explains, returning to her notes she’s been procuring between Tatsuya’s silence. “The last I heard about him, he’s been recovering. He was conscious when the paramedics recovered him after your—arrest.”

“Good.”

“We’re not talking about Mister Kido right now, though. Tatsuya, I need you to focus on what I’m asking you.”

Tatsuya doesn’t lift his head right away. He lingers, looking at the dust that has gathered where the walls meet, never swept. He looks across the table through dirty hair, and lifts his head properly to nudge it out of the way. But he doesn’t unfold his arms. Kumi Hirose sighs.

“You know we’re being watched,” she says.

“I know.” Tatsuya glances up at the camera in the very same corner he was fixated on, higher at the ceiling. “Nobody can hear us.”

“They can see how unresponsive you’re being, however,” Kumi continues, folding a page and turning to another, an empty lined sheet of paper. “I don’t think your former coworkers are impressed.”

“They haven’t been for a while.”

Kumi visibly bites her lip. She doesn’t lift her head, and lowers her pen. When she adjusts her glasses, Tatsuya can see the reflection of the stale lighting in the glass. “If it… improves your mood, at all. Mister Nanjo regrets his absence.”

It catches Tatsuya’s attention. “What do you mean?”

“At Star Junction. He acknowledges that he left you before law enforcement arrived. He—says that he had to, in order to protect his identity, and also to provide you with the resources you were going to need from the start.” Kumi reaches across the table, her hands folded. “These are words he told me himself. You can ask him yourself, if you want—he only wants you to know it wasn’t malicious.”

He can see her sigh. “He also understands if you’re angry at him.”

“I have more important things to be angry about,” Tatsuya says, tersely, but then his shoulders lower and he looks at Kumi far more alert than he has been. “—But. I understand. It’s not—not like I blame him.”

Her smile doesn’t last. “He’s looking into anything that can help you. For now—I just need you to cooperate.”

Tatsuya can tell the intent; he could tell what kind of tactics she’s trying to use from miles away. But, the concern in her words is earnest enough, and between the lawyer jargon and the Nanjo appeal, he can see she gives a shit. Instead of frowning and turning away again, Tatsuya just leans back, lifts his head, and allows his right arm to drop to his lap. His left remains bent, supported by his right’s elbow. The wound doesn’t hang open now, and the ripped flesh presses gently together, to encourage the healing beneath thicker gauze and taped bandages. Kumi smiles; Tatsuya doesn’t, only nods.

“Tell me what you’ve drafted, then,” Tatsuya asks. “Again. Please.”

“Of course,” Kumi says, turning three pages she’s shuffled through back on top of the empty notepad. He can see a paperclip holding a photograph to the back of the page. He presumes it’s his own. “I’ve begun drafting the clause we’ll be appealing to. I’ve begun considering facts about the crash and your actions following it.”

“I stumbled out of Kei’s car and killed him,” Tatsuya responds, plainly.

“For a former officer, you’re very simple with the law,” Kumi responds, not looking up from her paper. “We have witnesses to your actions. The events leading up to your visit to the apartment. The two bodies pulled from the penthouse apartment aren’t going to testify.”

“I had to leave my gun there.”

“This is my assumption, of course, but the damage done to it may be intense enough to not identify—or trace fingerprints, ownership.” Kumi looks up through her glasses. “That would also, ultimately, be mister Nanjo’s concern, as it was his weapon, not yours.”

Tatsuya watches her incredulously. Kumi returns to her dossier. “There is more, of course. And it is not going to be as simple as that; there is more to this puzzle we have to piece together. But on the bright side… it’s our puzzle to make.”

“Meaning?”

“We’re cutting the pieces ourselves, so to speak. There is a reason Mister Nanjo assigned me to you, and it’s because I’m fantastic at my job.” Kumi lowers her pen. “You don’t have to pay me a thing. All you have to do is let me help you, Tatsuya, and I can dig us free better than anyone else in this city.”

Tatsuya finds himself nodding, mindful and quiet. Kumi turns one of the pages towards him, a formal paper typed on egg-white paper, but the door behind Kumi opens. The warm sympathy of Kumi’s eyes is swept out like a pinched candle, and she turns her head with a straightened back.

“I am having a conversation with my client,” she replies tersely, and Shiori presses her lips together.

“I’m sorry I’m cutting you short, then,” she admits, “but the bail payment has been recieved, and while I wouldn’t cut in to tell you that, there’s someone outside waiting for you two.”

Kumi furrows her brow. “Is there?”

Shiori folds her arms, and doesn’t look at Kumi. She stares straight to Tatsuya, insteading, avoiding the burning stare pressed into the flank of her cheek. “Black car, looks like a limo. I didn’t expect it was for you until the driver came out.”

Kumi’s stare breaks into something far more pleasant, and then turns to gather the paperwork as she speaks. “Oh! Yamaoka’s fetched for us, that’s helpful. Thank you, officer.”

She doesn’t look over her shoulder, or gesture anything to Shiori until the folders are set and her messenger bag is filled once more, the table cleared within seconds. Tatsuya finds himself folding his arms again, but lets his eyes wander to Shiori, who watches Kumi with a bewildered amazement before the young lawyer walks briskly past her, glancing to Tatsuya. “Come on, Tatsuya. I know just where we’re headed.”

Tatsuya exhales quietly into a sigh, and gets up off of his seat. The ache in his shoulder doesn’t go away, but it’s mitigated when he focusses on walking past Shiori without looking at her - but that changes when she puts a hand on his shoulder. The bad one.

“That’s my injured shoulder,” Tatsuya says, holding back the hiss of pain.

“Sorry,” Shiori says, pulling her hand back. As Tatsuya continues his walk, she follows at his side. “I just—wanted to ask you something. If you can wait.”

“I don’t think I can,” he says, feeling her eyes strain against him. In reality, he just doesn’t want to.

“I haven’t seen you since—your brother spoke to you,” she continues, anyway, taking long steps to follow Tatsuya’s brisk pace. Shiori cuts in front of him, stopping Tatsuya short, even when he continues to look past the side of her head. Shiori’s frustrated stare pulls him back when she snaps her fingers. “I’m not asking you what you talked about with your lawyer. I want to know why nobody could get into contact with you after the Captain disappeared.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Tatsuya admits. “I was never called.”

“I know that. Because nobody was allowed to.” Shiori furrows her brow. “The DA wouldn’t let us. He said it had to stay internal, which is bullshit, especially if you were—”

“Are you suggesting I was involved?” Tatsuya interrupts, still bitter, far more grim. Shiori tightens her frown. “If you’re looking for answers, I was saving him.”

Her eyes break open, and she shakes her head in a double-take. “Saving him? What do you—”

“Excuse me,” Kumi’s voice is the second one to interrupt Shiori, standing behind the woman a few years her senior. “My client has to go. Please don’t interrogate him.”

Shiori turns around and looks at the shorter girl, with a strained fist clenched at her side. But, instead of a harsher argument, she steps to the side, casting a glance towards Tatsuya. “Sorry about that. I’ll let you two leave.”

“Thank you.” The look Kumi gives her is a professionally patented Nanjo glance of disinterest, but her expression to Tatsuya is as warm as they could come. “Let’s get going, Tatsuya. Yamaoka is waiting for us.”

“Wait,” Shiori begins again, and lifts her head. “—I can’t just let you go without ensuring Tatsuya is returning to his house. The terms of your release—you’re to be under house arrest until your hearing, Tatsuya.”

Kumi glares an admonishing stare, cutting against Shiori with a precision Tatsuya is humbled by. “And where is that stated? Do you have a document detailing that condition?”

In her first act of frustration, Shiori narrows her eyes. “Officer Tadashi has the documents in the front lobby. He’s going to be the one escorting you home.”

“That won’t be possible,” Kumi straightens her back, and takes a step towards Shiori, a defensive barrier between her and Tatsuya. “We are going to Schottler Medical Center to speak to individuals key to my client’s defence and he must be present.”

Shiori’s glare is sharp. Tatsuya looks between the two women, and with a touch of uncertainty, rubs his shoulder. “Are you allowed to come with me?”

Both of them look at Tatsuya, with Shiori more incredulous than Kumi. She looks down the hall in thought, and then gives a shrug. “I… suppose I can, so long as I escort you home immediately after your meeting.”

“So long as Officer Miyashiro understands the urgency of our meeting… then I have no reason to object to her joining us.” Kumi adjusts the strap over her shoulder, glancing down the hall towards the front lobby. “But we still have to hurry. We should gather the paperwork from Officer Tadashi and get going; miss Kirishima is waiting for us, if my expectations are correct.”

He follows behind Kumi, who turns on her heel and marches off. He offers a look back towards Shiori, whose expression is distant and uncertain. She folds her arms as she follows Tatsuya, and he thinks she feels some sort of regret. He’ll admit he’s familiar with the feeling, but oddly, nothing in his chest burns the same way. Tatsuya has to turn a corner for his eyes to finally cut from Shiori, and then he stares ahead, past Kumi’s hair and to the next door. Outside, the windows are brightly lit, and he doesn’t like the feeling.

* * *

Eriko smiles at him with as warm of a smile when he crawls into the back seat of the limousine. Yumi takes a seat next to Eriko, while Tatsuya sits across. With an uncertain hesitation, Shiori enters behind them, and sits a respectful distance from the women and Tatsuya. Eriko acknowledges Shiori with a curious tip of her head.

“Officer Miyashiro?” she clarifies, and Shiori nods her head. “My name is Eriko Kirishima. Thank you for being understanding about the situation.”

“It’s—no problem,” Shiori says, scratching the side of her head and keeping her head down. Tatsuya recognizes the uncertainty in her eyes, like she’s breaking a rule she’s the only one enforcing. “Were you told me name—?”

“Yumi called ahead to tell me of the situation.” Eriko’s smile returns, but it’s all business, no empathy. “Make yourself comfortable. There’s some water in the bar if you’d like some.”

“I’m alright, thank you.”

Eriko’s smile stays, and when she turns to Tatsuya, it warms up again. Yamaoka starts the limousine in the driver’s area. An upbeat pop song plays from the radio now that it’s on, though Eriko turns to lower the volume as she speaks. “I hope you’ve been alright. They only posted the bail this morning, otherwise Kei would have paid it sooner.”

“Didn’t think he was going to do that,” Tatsuya confesses, cradling his arm again and looking around the limousine’s interior. It’s the same one from the night of the Bahama Mamas job.

“Of course he would. He’s already hired Kumi to help you with your case,” Eriko continues, and he can see Kumi smile slightly out of the corner of his eye. “Once we go to the hospital, we’ll be driving you home right away, so not to complicate Officer Miyashiro’s instructions.”

Shiori glances up a little, and notices Eriko is looking at her. “You can… just call me Shiori,” she says, a little flatly.

Eriko nods. “Of course, Shiori. Again, thank you.”

“It’s—no problem.” Shiori looks towards Tatsuya, who in turn, watches. Something lingers on the tip of her tongue, but she looks at the other women first. “Can I ask him something? Off record.”

Yumi and Eriko exchange a glance, and Yumi hums audibly. “We can’t provide you two much privacy. And I’m sure Tatsuya can answer for himself.”

“It’s alright,” Tatsuya insists. Shiori takes a deep breath in and fixes her posture, and she has more of the confidence Tatsuya’s familiar with when she finally allows herself to sit in her seat like she’s not being taken against her will.

“Where did you find the Cap—your brother?” Shiori asks, patiently folding her hands against her knees. “When we got a call about—the incident in Star Junction, Tadashi told me your brother made another call about an incident at the bridge. I know he’s not ready to come back to work, but—”

She cuts herself off, taking a pause. Whatever she was going to say, Tatsuya has no idea what it could be. Shiori’s eyes glance to the right a little, before she catches herself and looks at Tatsuya once again. The beams of the main city bridge cast shadows over the car, streaks of black shadow running over the already dark windows. Tatsuya glances towards Yumi, who gives him a nod. When he looks back to Shiori, he takes a moment to consider what he wants to say.

“He was being held in a mansion that belonged to Junko Kurosu,” he admits. “Fed little, bound by rope and chains, in a dark basement. I don’t know if he was held there the entire time he was missing, but he could have been.”

Tatsuya thinks about sitting in the long meeting hall, with Katsuya beneath the floor boards, waiting in silence to be found. He feels an anger boil inside of him, but clenching his fist keeps it sedated. He almost says Jun’s name, but cuts himself a different word. “Akinari Kashihara—the man who died in the car crash my brother called about—allowed me inside.”

“Was he aware what his wife was doing?”

“Probably. Probably complicit in it.” Tatsuya leans back in his seat, arms folded. “I don’t know what he was planning on doing, if he wasn’t—killed. If he was going to confront his wife about it, or the police. I didn’t ask.”

Shiori shifts in her seat. She crosses one leg over the other, and glances away. “I understand. I don’t think I need to tell you how grateful everyone is you found him. Were the missing women with him?”

“Yes, they were.”

She nods. When Tatsuya looks away to stare out the tinted window behind Yumi’s head, he can hear Shiori sigh, but she doesn’t press any further question. Eriko moves in her seat, toying with her seatbelt to give herself something to fidget with, and breaks the silence soon after it settles.

“We’re about five minutes from the hospital,” she says, leaning forward to catch Tatsuya’s attention. “Naoya and Yuka are both there. Your other friend, Reiji, is in Algonquin, but I’ve heard he’s been making an excellent recovery.”

“And Naoya?” Tatsuya asks, hopeful—yet it dwindles when Eriko’s expression falls.

“He’s…” Eriko’s eyes lower down. “He’s been conscious, but only in periods of time. I don’t know—”

“Perhaps it would be better to not think about the what ifs,” Yumi says, reaching a hand to Eriko’s arm. “We should go make sure he’s alright, and only think about what comes next then.”

Eriko nods. “Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.” She looks at Tatsuya again, and shuffles herself as close to the edge of her seat as she can, reaching over to touch his knee. “Are you feeling okay?”

Tatsuya lingers for a moment, empty-thoughts and distant eyes, before he nods. “Yes. I’m alright.”

At the corner of her eyes, Eriko glances at Shiori, who is pointedly trying to tune herself from the conversation, as polite as she can be. And then, a little quieter, Eriko whispers to Tatsuya, “Kei’s looking into who tipped the group off. He heard about what… that woman said to you, and he’s putting forward as much efforts as he can.”

Tatsuya looks at her with a viscerally uncomfortable feeling in his throat, but nods once more, and he lets Eriko take one of his hands to squeeze it. “Thank you.”

Eriko smiles a sad, distant smile as the welcome arch of Schottler Medical Center leans over the limousine. Yamaoka pulls to a stop at the front entrance, and Tatsuya looks outside to the front doors, the feeling lingering.

* * *

Naoya is on the first floor. The nurse that leads the three women and Tatsuya down the hall explains that this is where emergency care patients remain, and Tatsuya feels ill.

Shiori stops herself in one of the doorways of the care wings. She leans herself against the open door, and folds her arms when Tatsuya turns around. “I’ll—stay here. His room’s up ahead?”

When Tatsuya nods, Shiori occupies her eyes by looking at one of the uninteresting paintings near the patient rooms. “Tell your lawyer to come see me when she’s done, and I’ll bring you home.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope your friend is alright.”

Shiori knows it isn’t a key visit. But Tatsuya thinks she doesn’t care about that kind of detail. It soothes the ache in his chest when he turns around to catch up with Eriko and Yumi, who linger in front of an open door with looks of disbelief lingering in their eyes.

Inside, the curtains are pulled open. Maki sits with her back to the open street, her thin hands clutching Naoya’s bruised one in front of her, like a prayer. She lifts her head like a lioness disturbed, and the glare she cuts through the women to Tatsuya is visceral. Hatred and bitterness that crosses the room, stinging his skin and making him feel guilty just by stepping inside the room.

“Good afternoon, Maki,” Eriko says, uncertainly stepping behind Tatsuya into the room. “We’re, ah, just visiting—”

“I get it,” Maki says, harsh. “I’ll go.”

“You don’t have to,” Eriko insists.

Maki’s glare crosses from Tatsuya to Eriko. Though the light doesn’t linger on her features, he can see the tracks of dried tears, where her mascara has trailed down her cheeks. “Do you two _need_ to stay, or is it only Tatsuya?”

Yumi and Eriko exchange a glance, and then, Eriko steps back out, between the threshold of the room and the hallway. “We’ll leave you to it, then,” she says, reaching to close the door. Tatsuya can feel its edge graze against his back, and then it closes.

The air is sterile and cool. Autumn’s wind dances into the room, curling around the curtains and Maki’s hair. Even when the door closes, and Tatsuya slowly walks across the tile floor, Naoya doesn’t stir. A breathing mask sits against his face, which has blossomed with dull bruises across his cheeks and throat. Cables and tubes press against various points of his body, shirt stripped off and dressed in a non-descript patterned white gown. Maki’s eyes don’t leave him as he crosses the room, and he feels like he’s approaching something worse than any armed person he’s approached in these few months.

Tatsuya sits down across from Maki. She hasn’t let go of Naoya’s hand, and her grip on him strains. Neither speak, until Maki does.

“I almost died when I was a child,” she says coldly, “many times. I was always ill. I still have some problems when I get sick, and my immune system starts to fail me.”

Tatsuya doesn’t say anything.

“When I was nine, I got chicken pox. My friends all said that everyone gets them, and it’s no big deal. I was in the hospital for two weeks, and almost didn’t make it.” Maki looks at Naoya, one of her hands releasing from his to reach up to his cheek, grazing gently around a blotchy bruise near his jaw. “Every morning, my mother was afraid I wasn’t going to wake up. She’d be late for work almost every day, just to stay in the hospital to make sure I was awake. And even then, she’d call every few hours to make sure I was okay.”

She doesn’t want to take her eyes off Naoya. Tatsuya can tell, from how she lingers, stalling her words before she can break her gaze to stare at Tatsuya. “I got better. I was scared. I still get scared whenever I get sick, thinking I’m going to end up back here. The same hospital. I told myself that if it ever happened again, and my mother wasn’t able to be there for me, I’d have Naoya. And now, I can’t be so sure of that.”

Tatsuya lowers his head, looking at Naoya’s other hand resting limp at his side. Though the sound of his laboured breathing swells in the air between Maki’s words, it doesn’t comfort him any more.

“Look at me,” Maki demands through grit teeth, and Tatsuya glances up, unsettled. He can see tears well in her eyes again, with an expression he’s never seen her wear before. “If he dies, I never want to speak to you again. My children will never speak to you again. I’ll move across the country to get as far away from you as possible.”

“I didn’t kill him,” Tatsuya insists, and he doesn’t know why he says that. He almost expects Maki to throw herself across Naoya’s bedside to grab at his throat, but she only lifts herself out of her chair quietly, and for the first time, she gets to glare down at someone.

“You’re a bad liar.” Maki releases Naoya’s hand and gathers her coat that she draped over the back of her seat, and storms out of the room. The door doesn’t slam, but Tatsuya braces himself as if it does. The silence of the room sweeps over him again, and he lowers his head, relaxing his back. His hand slips into Naoya’s.

He wants to speak. He thinks about the driveway of the Kurosu estate, and how Naoya smiled at him beneath the moonlight. He tries to imagine the car dropping to the ground below, but he can’t envision steel on pavement and brick, only how the car looked slipping past the concrete barrier. Naoya was scared. Naoya was hurt, and braced himself against the wheel for the impact. Someone would have called, even if Katsuya didn’t—but he doesn’t want to think past that, because if they didn’t, he would have sat beneath ground metal, crushed between broken glass and a dead body. Tatsuya lowers his head down, resting against Naoya’s hip with his hand under his chin, and it stirs something beneath Naoya’s closed eyes.

Naoya looks up at the ceiling, then down the length of his body. Tatsuya wants to stand up, throw himself over Naoya and hold him close, but can’t bring him to move. Naoya presses his chin against his chest to look at him, and Tatsuya can hear him laugh, just a little.

“You look tired,” Naoya says, strained.

“Slept for two nights in jail,” Tatsuya admits, and finds he wants to close his eyes, himself. “Got arrested.”

“Shit. Nanjo help you get out?”

“Only one who could.”

Naoya lays his head back down against the pillow with a grimace, but his expression settles. “Did you get him?”

“I shot him in the middle of Star Junction.” Tatsuya lifts his head up, keeping his hand in Naoya’s. “Reiji helped. Crashed his car into Sudou’s. He’s in a different hospital.”

“Alive?”

“Yes.”

“Doing better than me?”

“Don’t say that.”

Naoya looks down the length of his body, where his legs sit beneath the blankets. “I can’t feel them,” he admits. The furthest blanket peaks, where his feet sit underneath, twitch only slightly. “That’s the most I can do. Think they’re the first to go. I heard Akinari died.”

“Naoya,” Tatsuya insists, gripping his fingers, “Don’t talk about that.”

“I don’t want to,” Naoya says, looking to Tatsuya. “But I… don’t know. Breathing hurts. They picked glass out of my legs and stomach. Opening my eyes hurts.”

“Close them, then.” Tatsuya sits up again, leaning closer to Naoya with a hand to support him on the stiff bed. His shoulder disagrees and threatens to let him drop, but he forces himself through the rumble of pain. “I’m here. I’ll keep you awake.”

Naoya smiles distantly, and takes a deep, laboured breath before he closes his eyes, and sighs something peaceful, perhaps the first he’s allowed himself to feel in the periods of waking and sleeping. He tips his head back a little to keep Tatsuya calm, and when he sighs again, he sounds a lot more tired.

“Thank you,” he says, tired but earnest. “I heard Maki when she was talking to you.”

“I don’t blame her for what she said,” Tatsuya says, looking over the bruises while he sits closer. Dull and greying, but the bone and muscle in his face remain swollen and damaged, and Tatsuya notes splotches on Naoya’s head where blood must have stained in the wreckage. Naoya looks like he tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace.

“Don’t let it get to you. I’ll—tell her to lay off you when she comes back.”

“Let her be angry. I made a lot of things worse than they had to be.”

“I’m the one who started it all, didn’t I?” Naoya moves the hand Tatsuya was gripping to reach up, opening his eyes slightly to see where Tatsuya’s shoulder is, and rests his hand in the curve of his neck. “Didn’t expect Reiji to be reasonable in the end, but… it was my fault. Ran with the wrong people, and I wanted you to fix it.”

“Yuka got hurt. Maki got hurt. Masao got hurt. You—” Tatsuya doesn’t let himself finish. His tongue burns. He wants to sit up and storm across the room, wants to drop back and bite the tears he wants to shed, wants to pull Naoya out of the bed and bring him home, to his own home, keep him safe there. He grips the loose sheet of the hospital bed, and Naoya closes his eyes again before they start to strain.

“You got him in the end.” Naoya grips Tatsuya’s shoulder to pull himself up the pillow, tipping his head down to not knock the breathing mask against Tatsuya. He keeps his hand on Tatsuya’s shoulders, and sighs, coarsely. “You got—everyone back. You killed the one responsible. Even if you never wanted to do that—you did something right. Don’t—blame yourself.”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Tatsuya says, putting both hands on Naoya to keep him still. Naoya opens his eyes and strains as Tatsuya expected, trying to push against him—but Tatsuya is far more firm, far more careful, and keeps him still, before helping Naoya settle. Naoya looks deep into Tatsuya’s eyes, like he’s looking for his final answer.

“I don’t want to die,” Naoya admits, quiet and almost hidden. Tatsuya’s hands linger on Naoya’s shoulders, and then, carefully, minding every cord and wire and tube that are keeping Naoya’s heart beating and lungs moving, Tatsuya hugs him. He can feel Naoya’s hands slip up around his back, and holds on to him, gripping tight, like letting go is admitting the truth. Tatsuya can feel the breeze of the city roam into the room, and he’s cold, but Naoya stays warm, like he’s always been. Somewhere, in the embrace of broken limbs and healing wounds, Tatsuya buries himself against Naoya’s hair, and pushes a kiss against the top of his head, with the same kind of prayer you have at the end of the world.


	34. best served cold

Tatsuya’s eyes burn raw and red. When the door opens, Katsuya takes a deep, quiet breath.

“Let's get going,” he says, with a hand on the open door. Tatsuya doesn’t look to him, and keeps his eyes on the open window for some time. The pale white of the clouded sky burns his vision, and when he does, finally, pull his gaze and moves his head, a black shape similar to the window distorts his vision. Katsuya already has his outdoor coat on, with Tatsuya’s hanging over his free arm. With washed skin, clean clothes, and brushed hair, Katsuya looks normal. Like the weeks didn’t matter, or perhaps even happened.

Tatsuya doesn’t move much else but his head. His brother says nothing, nor does he gesture to the door with a grimace, the way he would any other time, with any other meeting to attend. Eventually - Tatsuya stands off his bed, which has become unfamiliar, the springs snapping in such a way that he feels like he’s in a different home. In the doorway, Katsuya helps him into his thick outdoor coat, long and black. It’s their father’s, because none of Tatsuya’s black coats are graveyard appropriate.

“I’m your watch today,” Katsuya says behind him, low and quiet. “If you want to go anywhere after—”

“I won’t.”

“—Just tell me, first.”

Tatsuya lingers in Katsuya’s space before closing his bedroom door. One of Katsuya’s gloved hands rest on his brother’s shoulders, and Tatsuya allows him to stay, feeling it slip off as he walks towards their front door.

Most of his things are still in his bedroom. If you took his belongings, spread between his brother’s building and Lisa’s apartment, and didn’t ask about the situation, or even the problems that hung inside the apartments like broken lights, maybe the move would look impulsive, like Tatsuya stood up in the night and walked away. He still wishes it were that simple, even if all that remains in Lisa’s apartment is a backpack of clothing tucked under a side table by her couch. The truth lingers, but still - he doesn’t really care.

Tatsuya keeps his head down as he passes through the front door. He notes roughened wood, split by the lock on the frame, damaged from forced entry. He shuts his eyes tight, and strains himself to static until Katsuya locks the door.

“What’s the time?” Katsuya asks.

Tatsuya shrugs, eyes open. “Not noon yet.”

“Do you want—to go to the convenience store? To get some smokes?”

“No,” Tatsuya replies, honest. “I’m thinking about quitting.”

“Huh.” Katsuya leads him to the stairs, a hand on his back. It feels like he’s reminding himself, too. “Good for you.”

Katsuya’s red Dilettante is cold from the weather. Its seats are stiff from disuse, and Tatsuya can feel the chill of a late year’s morning when he presses his head against the window while Katsuya gets the car started. With the windows up, the radio fills the car’s interior, even with its low volume. Tatsuya watches the street roll past him while the end of a song wilts away, and he frowns when Meteor Masa’s voice calls to him, the discordant jingle of a news segment twisting his focus. He finds himself thinking of Hidehiko, on the ground and covering his head, but only for a moment.

_“The bodies found within the apartments of Middle Park are continuing to be identified, with twenty remains still awaiting identification. Junko Kurosu is confirmed to be among the dead, actress and wife to the late Akinari Kashihara. Both of them were killed hours apart, with Kashihara being pronounced dead on the scene of a car crash in Broker.”_

Tatsuya can see his brother’s hands strain against the wheel, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he just sighs, quietly. _“Their son, Jun Kurosu, has been unavailable for questions from the concerned public, as he is allegedly in attendance to several funerals. Sources aren’t able to confirm who he’s burying, but some suspect it might be—”_

“Jesus _Christ,”_ Katsuya remarks, a sharp bite when he reaches forward and turns off the radio. “Sorry. I forgot I even had it on before—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tatsuya insists, “He’s not _wrong.”_

“It wouldn’t kill them to get the details right, at least,” Katsuya murmurs, and turns to Franklin Street.

It’s not the same neighbourhood, where Naoya’s family moved into years ago, but it’s the closest. Tatsuya watches the roll of bare trees and passing pedestrians while Katsuya slows the car down, and he catches himself wondering who they are, if they’re good people, if he actually cares. Steinway has never made him think of vicious crime, or violence under the surface like blood with skin, and maybe that’s where it should end. When the first brick of the cemetary’s walls catch his eye, Tatsuya grips his knees and strains his hands tight, and exhales deeply. To his left, he hears Katsuya move, and then, his hand on his shoulder. When he looks over, Katsuya is looking at him and he can see his eyes through the red glasses.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Tatsuya nods, once, with everything hanging on Katsuya’s voice, and doesn’t do anything else.

There are cars in the street. When Katsuya finally parks, Tatsuya exits the car with a shaking step, his legs suddenly losing their strength and feeling heavy, and too soft. He braces himself on the car door, feeling the healing wounds under his coat straining with him. He lifts his head at the very same moment Maya catches his eye, and she begins her walk over, Lisa and Eikichi by her side.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, her arm slipping from its hook around Lisa’s to reach forward to Tatsuya, pulling him close. Maya is warm, like she’s been inside all this time and the cold can’t get to her, and Tatsuya rests gently against her, while he feels her hand rest on the back of his head. “I haven’t seen you since - that night.”

“She’s been worried about you,” Lisa comments, the edge of her voice trying to give way to something more lighthearted than the darkness of the day. When Maya slips from Tatsuya, Lisa takes her place immediately, a tight hug around Tatsuya’s neck. Without hesitation, Tatsuya returns the embrace, head against Lisa’s shoulder. “C’mere, Tatsuya. You look like you’ve been through hell.”

“A little,” he admits, quieted by her thick wool coat.

“Are you back with your brother?” she asks, and pulls back from their hug without any lingering urge or desperate hope. Tatsuya glances to Katsuya, who has rose from the driver’s side and walks slowly around the front of his car. Katsuya’s glance towards him is only brief, and Lisa notices, with a bite of her lip. “I’ll bring your stuff to your place. Don’t worry about it.”

He only nods. When Lisa steps back and returns her arm around Maya’s, Tatsuya notices how Lisa leans into Maya for only a second before Eikichi’s own arm yanks him a little, a half-hug towards the gates.

“Shit, Tatsuya, I wasn’t expectin’ this kind of news today,” Eikichi sighs. It’s different to see him with less blues, more blacks, and significantly less makeup. “Miyabi’s at work, said she can’t make it…”

“I think Maki will understand,” Lisa sighs from Maya’s hip, “You’ve been mentioning that ever since you got here.”

“‘Cause my girl’s a _good person,_ who feels bad about things she can’t help!” Eikichi scoffs, and looks away from Lisa with the right kind of flair Tatsuya would expect from him. _“Regardless,_ did you know _Kei Nanjo’s_ here?! What kind of company was Naoya keeping?!”

Tatsuya allows himself to be led by Eikichi, but spares a glance towards Maya. “An interesting crowd, no doubt.”

The crowd is not nearly as dense as Eikichi could have suggested. A wall of black suits and dresses gather around an open grave, dirt mounting behind a freshly carved slab of marble and stone. The familiar silhouette of Reiji Kido lingers by who Tatsuya can only assume might be Maki, his arm around her shoulder while she sways into him, audibly biting back sobs the closer Tatsuya approaches. Beside her stands Eriko, tall, elegant, with her hair down and not tied in its impossibly tight ponytail. She holds her hand against Maki’s other shoulder, her head bowed and eyes distant, out of focus. Eikichi’s hand suddenly feels a lot heavier against him, and Tatsuya wants to shove him off, but doesn’t. He only keeps his arms folded over his chest, and glances from each somber look on the men and women gathered.

Hidehiko, with his bright red hair, looks stripped of his quirky clothes and obnoxious goggles when brooding in an ill-fitted black suit. It’s the only splash of colour Tatsuya can see when Eikichi’s at his side, but even so, the dull blue wouldn’t change how the clouds are pale and even, how the sky cannot break for sunlight and change who is being buried beneath the cold earth. Hidehiko watches the ground with a forlorn look in his eye, and when there are less people in the way, Yuka Ayase in her black dress stands next to Hidehiko’s tall legs. Tatsuya feels an uncertainty boil in his throat, but Yuka’s mournful eye doesn’t tell him anything else.

“Good afternoon,” comes a voice from his right, and Tatsuya turns his head to see Kei with a phone kept close to his chest. He can feel Eikichi tense at his side, and maybe he’s watching him with a look of absolute shock - Tatsuya doesn’t check, nor does he care. Kei offers a look to Eikichi that tells Tatsuya it’s more than he wants to offer him. “Can I take your friend here for a moment?”

“Uh—holy shit, _yeah,_ take him!” Eikichi says, though is tugged from his hold of Tatsuya before he can move away, yanked by the collar from one stern looking Maya Amano. Tatsuya doesn’t offer him a glance behind, and Kei reaches forward to pull Tatsuya gently, with his good arm.

“We shouldn’t be talking about this here,” Kei admits, glancing over to the group in black, as Yamaoka calmly steps between the two men and the mournful. “But—are you able to come with me after this is over?”

Tatsuya frowns, troubled. “I _could,_ but it depends on what you need me for.”

Kei presses his mouth into a thin line, running through whatever thoughts are dwelling in his mind. “Do you think your brother would compromise?”

“I don’t know,” Tatsuya sighs, reaching up and scratching the side of his head. He suddenly feels extremely tired, and it drains him from deep within his chest. “You would have to ask him. It’s — all out of my control.”

The hand Kei has on his shoulder grips him just a little tighter, a frustrated frown pulling on his lips. He looks back towards the mourners, past Yamaoka’s shoulder. “I’ll figure something out. Amano and Kido will be with us, as well as Eriko. Try to stay with them, if that girl can let Amano go for once.”

Kei’s hand slips from Tatsuya’s shoulder to his back, and quietly, he guides Tatsuya to the open grave, stepping the two of them between Katsuya and Reiji. Tatsuya looks at the casket for the first time, without the forest of tall bodies between him and Naoya’s final resting place. He can see the man he believes is Naoya’s older brother shift on his feet by the slab of stone, engraved with Naoya’s name and birthdate. He can see Maki crumble against Reiji and clutch her hand against his black denim jacket some more, her sobs sharper now that he’s so terribly close to her. But no matter who catches the corner of his eye, who looks around and feels the swell of guilt; no matter how Naoya’s father begins the moment of mourning with a somber eulogy, and makes everyone remember the face of the body inside, Tatsuya doesn’t look away. Nothing brings him from the carved wooden coffin, or the dirt that has begun to dust on its surface. A bouquet of flowers was already tossed inside, and some petals have fallen from the cut flowers, into the dirt down the side of the coffin.

He wants to do something. Change who lays in the earth, go back a week ago and tell Naoya he’s going with Kei. Give Naoya’s body something to remember him by, bury his wallet or his lighter or his helmet inside of the ground forever. Maybe he wants to sit down, kneel before the body of a man he loved and killed for, and ask him if everything is going to be alright. Cry against the tombstone. Something. His knees are locked and he has to lean against Kei, and Kei allows him.

Tatsuya only looks away when the first mound of dirt is dropped over the casket. He clenches his fists and his eyes and he turns his head, only opening when he knows he won’t see where Naoya’s going. When he does, Tatsuya sees Masao standing between Eriko and Naoya’s mother, with his eyes also turned away from the grave. His eyes are downcast, and steal a glance up for a second to look at someone in the line, and then, he sees Tatsuya. Masao looks away again. Tatsuya almost didn’t see him, without the streak of yellow from his favourite hat. Lost in the barricade of black. Lost in the sea of grief.

Tatsuya wants to push past Reiji, Maki, Eriko, and reach him, but he keeps himself still. He doesn’t know what he would do if he stood next to Masao, anyway. Maybe put an arm around him.

He can feel Kei’s eyes on him. Tatsuya looks back down, closing his eyes once more when he sees more of the wooden casket obscured by dust and dirt. The bouquet is buried. Frozen dirt begins to pile up higher and higher, closer to the soles of the feet surrounding the grave. Tatsuya exhales through his nose, and open his eyes once again, and soon, all he can see is the disturbed surface of the earth, packed down by shovels carried by Naoya’s family. The words of his friend’s father are soft in his ears, as if he stuck cotton into them. Still he feels Kei’s presence, and when he looks to his left, Kei is looking through him. Sharper, like he’s in a familiar territory, in a fight he can win. Tatsuya follows Kei’s gaze, and he returns once more to Masao.

Kei mutters something. “Give me a moment.”

Tatsuya looks to his left and towards Maya, instead, who sways with Lisa’s head against her shoulder, a hand in her blonde hair. Her eyes look like glass, but the tears don’t cause her face to crumple and tremble, and it’s like she forgot they were there at all. The second hand keeps to Lisa’s own, and Lisa’s melancholy matches Maki’s with how her lashes flutter against her cheeks, wet with tears. It’s easier to look at Maya than Masao, or even Kei. Maya is the better of the three, in all regards. But next to Maya, an unfamiliar woman steps to Katsuya, and pulls his attention with a hand on her shoulder. Though he is close to his brother, Kei and Katsuya block the woman’s words from reaching him, and Katsuya steps from the circle to follow her. When Tatsuya follows with his eyes, he sees a pin on her chest, a familiar Nanjo crest. It soothes the fear of Katsuya leaving with strangers a little.

Mournful silence takes the crowd. Tatsuya keeps his head lowered like the others, but he keeps his eye on Katsuya over his shoulder, who, in turn, glances back towards his brother. Tatsuya doesn’t get the chance to wonder his suspicion before he feels Kei pull on his shoulder, and they step back from the shifting crowd, who lift their heads when the moment has crawled past. Kei continues to guide Tatsuya back, to the gravel path of Dukes Cemetery, who looks at him in protest.

“Where are we going?” he whispers, to not catch the attention of anyone else.

“Allow Yuna—a cousin of mine—to speak with your brother,” Kei says, notably stern. “I need to adequately prepare you for this.”

“For what?”

“I know who sold us out.” Kei looks towards the group once more. “Perhaps you have figured it out, too.”

“No,” Tatsuya says, flat and forward, only a little louder than he intends it to be. “It—Kei. You’re not serious.”

“Tatsuya,” he warns, “Stay quiet.”

“You’re lying.”

“Don’t you _dare_ call me a liar.” Kei looks over his shoulder, at the attention drawn from Eriko. “Tatsuya—stay calm. We’re going to confront him, but not here.”

Kei continues to push against Tatsuya, and after a moment, Tatsuya’s stance gives way and allows himself to be pushed by Kei, away from the mournful and down the gravel path. Maya’s head lifts from Lisa’s and she looks towards Tatsuya with a look of clear concern, crossed sharply with despair. Kei turns Tatsuya around to walk him forward, and takes long strides to a car notably more _affluent_ than the rest of those in attendance to the funeral. Tatsuya feels his stomach twist when Kei pushes him into the passenger seat, and the sickness dwells inside of him when Kei turns the car on.

“We’re going to where we’re meeting him,” he says, “Let our _friends_ bring him with us.”

* * *

 

There’s a warehouse by the docks, close to Brunner Street. It’s too close to the apartment. Tatsuya felt ill the entire drive through Broker, and it burns his throat worse when the cold air of the water comes over him as Nanjo guardsmen open the warehouse doors. Inside, large wooden boxes have been moved to frame a space by the large windows, all varying in size and content. Prearranged by Nanjo suits.

Tatsuya walks inside as the haze of light casts over the square shaped zone. In the center is a chair; nondescript, some stiff office chair, or perhaps from a classroom, taken from the universities. A handcuff hangs from one of the arms, still and listless at the side of the legs. Tatsuya walks a circle around the seat, watching it carefully, like maybe, it can tell him the secret instead, and it’ll be a better end. Kei leans against a wooden crate, vertical and narrow.

“They’re coming,” Kei says. Tatsuya doesn’t look at him. He also didn’t ask. “Eriko’s bringing the other two.”

Tatsuya stops himself behind the chair, and slips his hands into the thin pockets of his suit pants. He tilts his head to examine the chair from a second angle, and it makes him think of the movies, or perhaps people like Sasaki, who tie up their victims of interrogation. Is this how they think, waiting off screen, or just around the corner, in the ache of anticipation? However Tatsuya’s chest burns with the truth coming from down the street, he can’t help but think of it like that, with Kei watching him examine the chair. He thinks about Kei picking up the chair like it meant nothing to take, throwing it into a van’s trunk to bring to the warehouse. Surely, a person like the woman who spoke to Katsuya performed such a task for him, but Tatsuya thinks, instead, of Kei doing it himself, pulling it from the van when the morning sun hadn’t yet taken the sky, and dragging it across the concrete into the building, and rearranging the boxes to look how he wants it. Hiding certain crates behind others to make a solid wall of wood, trapping any dog unlucky enough to be cornered in the harbour.

Kei looks at his phone, relaxed by the door of the warehouse. Tatsuya thinks about sitting in the chair, but he doesn’t. Outside, a car rolls against rock and concrete damp with the ocean’s salt, and Kei looks up. The click of his smartphone shutting off is like Tatsuya is right at his side. “That’s them.”

Tatsuya keeps his head held up, with his eyes kept open, when the door finally opens with a crack against the wall. A suited man holds open the door for Reiji as he drags Masao inside by the scruff of his hair and shirt, suit jacket missing. Behind him follows Maya, who is followed by Eriko, yet she remains in the door. She passes a look towards Kei, and nods once, closing the door with the suited man. The hisses of Reiji and Masao together is enough of a silent struggle, and Kei guides the roughed target into the chair. As Reiji holds Masao’s arm down, Kei handcuffs him to the chair.

“What the _hell,_ boss?!” Masao shouts, pulling up his arm against his restraints. “This _ain’t_ funny! You’re just—just gonna drag me out here—”

“Can it,” Reiji threatens, slamming his index finger into Masao’s chest rough enough to knock him with his knuckles. “Nanjo’s got you all figured out, _Inaba,_ so quit your _dumbass_ act.”

“I ain’t actin’ like anything!” Masao pleads, pushing Reiji’s hand off of him with the hand he’s been allowed to keep free. His bound wrist continues to knock against the steel frame of the chair, clattering the locked cuff on its armrest. Tatsuya walks around from behind the chair, and with a heavy yet careful hand, guides Reiji away from Masao. He looks down at the chained man, with as quiet as his sudden rage will allow him. Masao returns the look, but his is doused with fear.

“Hey, Tats, you—c’mon, man, you know I’d do nothin’, I don’t know what he means,” he continues, the plea desperate on his tongue. Behind Tatsuya, Kei sighs, and pushes off the crate.

“A private investigator of mine who recovered information and details from the Masked Circle showed me emails and messages sent to you by the late Tatsuya Sudou,” Kei explains, eyes down at his phone, flipping to whatever dossier his _investigator_ procured. “You would know him by _King Leo,_ but ultimately, I digress.”

He takes his place next to Tatsuya. Kei’s posture is stiff, refined; Tatsuya finds his shoulders dropping, his body slouching, and he keeps his eyes on Masao with a lingering fury, crossed with deep, distant despair. Masao looks between them, furious enough that the hair on his head shakes. Kei looks up from his phone, one hand in his pocket.

“He contacted you shortly after Yuka Ayase’s kidnapping, didn’t he?” Kei tilts his head, no matter how Masao shakes his, muttering _no, no, no._ “He _did,_ Masao. I have your _message history._ Get his phone off him, Kido.”

Reiji steps forward and forces his hand into Masao’s pockets, and Masao brings a foot up and kicks down into Reiji’s shin, who responds with a vicious backhand across his face. The slap stings the air, and Masao yelps an awkward yell while Reiji continues to jam his hand inside the suit pockets, and pulls free a smartphone after Masao’s leg kicks down at an inopportune time for him. Reiji turns on the phone, and gives Masao an incredulous stare.

“No password? You’re such an amateur,” Reiji remarks, and opens up the messenger. Masao hangs his head down, the whine turning into some kind of sob.

“I didn’t  _do anything,_ man, _please,_ you gotta believe me, I didn’t do _nothin—”_

“This one has no name set,” Reiji says, as an aside to Kei, and Kei’s expression darkens. Tatsuya doesn’t look over, but from how Kei clicks his tongue and holds up his own phone, he already knows the answer.

“They’re a match, Inaba,” Kei tuts, shaking his head. “You’re _lying_ to us.”

“Kei,” Maya suddenly says, her eyes squeezed shut and arms folded over her chest. She looks cold, but also wound tight, a tense coil. “Don’t—torment him. We know what he did.”

“Several men are dead because of his treachery,” Kei says, looking over his shoulder.

“Many more have died because of things _you’ve_ wanted done before,” she snaps, an unbecoming anger overcoming her. “He doesn’t deserve kindness—but Naoya deserves _justice._ We can call the police, and show him the evidence—”

“Fuck that!” Reiji shouts over her, taking a furious step in Maya’s direction, who returns with a dark glare of her own. “I want to hear what this bastard did it for, and then I want to put him in the fucking ground!”

“How can you just say that about human life?!” Maya screams, and Tatsuya has never heard her scream before, and he has never seen Maya take the last steps between her and Reiji to jam a finger into his chest, enough to push him back a step. “There is _always_ a better solution than _revenge killing!”_

Kei’s outcry of _“ENOUGH!”_ is enough to pull the eyes of both Maya and Reiji towards him, yet doesn’t stir anything inside of Tatsuya, who keeps his eye a knife against Masao. Kei steps around the seat Masao leans in, his head bowed, only to be pulled up with a hand in his curly hair once Kei pulls out a knife, yanking him back. Maya’s fury turns to visible distress when Kei presses the flat of the blade against Masao’s throat, its sharpest edge up against the skin. Masao’s fear is wide in his eyes, but he pulls back a terrified scream with a sharp breath, staring at the ceiling. Kei wrestles only slightly with Masao’s last struggle, and he stares at Tatsuya.

“Ask him,” Kei commands. With the struggle against Masao now settled, Tatsuya can see his hair undone, and the composure of Liberty City’s heir almost lost to the river outside. “Ask him why he did it.”

Tatsuya takes a step towards Masao. He isn’t sure what draws him closer to the bound man; perhaps it is his body’s desire to move, reawaken itself and be more than a machine that reacts to the arguments around it. Perhaps he wants to look closer in Masao’s eye to see just what kept him silent, what made his hand change. Tatsuya takes a short kneel, and when he settles, he’s lower to the ground than Masao. Masao watches down the length of his nose, with Kei’s hand still in his hair.

He doesn’t say anything, not right away. Then, Tatsuya asks, “Why?”

Masao’s stare tries to twist itself into a glare, a bitter look with a grimace and anger. When Tatsuya watches closely, he sees the anger turn to frustration, and the frustration to fear, and the fear to sadness, only back to anger; inside Masao’s eyes is a storm of despair, with a truth that swells inside his chest desperate to be told. He breathes in several times, shaky and afraid, before he can speak, still strained against Kei Nanjo’s knife and hand. But when he does, his voice is erratic, and moves like an unbalanced body.

“They—the Circle, the King, specifically—they got to me the night you went to see’em, w-with the Yukino girl.” Masao swallows, and Tatsuya can see it with his throat pulled taut. “He messaged me, all, _I’ve got your friends here, we’re going to be talking, I wanna make a deal,_ something—something like that. Right? Right, and…”

He looks up at Kei, a desperate plea in his eye to move the knife, but Kei only stares down at him, glasses caught in the light. Masao breathes again and looks at Tatsuya again. “So—so he wanted, he told me, to keep him updated. Make sure you and—and Naoya would get things done, do what he asked.”

“And you told him,” Tatsuya continued for him.

“Yeah, yeah it—I didn’t tell him about what ya did to the club guy, o-or who crashed Taurus’ deal—”

“But you told him about Akinari and Jun.”

Masao’s lower lip quivers. The anger and defiance breaks to desperate sadness, and even with his head pulled back, Masao’s eyes visibly swell with tears. “H-He said that, I ain’t gonna get out of this i-if I didn’t let him know if you ever—ever made a move on him, and I didn’t ever _wanna_ tell him, but he said—said he was gonna get Maki next, take her away from—from me, kill her like he was gonna kill you—”

Maya grabs Reiji when he nearly throws himself forward, arms out and reaching for the knife and Masao both, raw hatred lit in his eyes and between his grit teeth. “You _piece of shit!_ You fucking _traitor!_ You killed Naoya to take his _girlfriend?!_ She already can’t _stand_ you, you _stupid_ mother—”

“Calm down,” Maya cuts against him, her arms wide around his arms and chest to yank him back, “Calm _down,_ don’t touch him, leave it to Kei—!”

“Do you know what you _did,_ Inaba?!” Reiji spits at him, elbowing himself free from Maya’s complete grasp, even as she pulls back on one of his arms. “Did you think he was just going to let the job go quietly?! Just run off and give you the chance to take what you wanted?! How _else_ was he going to _give you your chance_ or whatever _stupid_ thing he told you he was going to do?!”

Kei pulls back on Masao’s head, twisting his hand through his hair and making him strain some more. “You’re a traitorous little _brat,_ and I didn’t expect you to have that kind of gall in you.”

“C’mon, he—he played me, too! Yanked me around like he yanked Tatsuya!” Masao looks at Tatsuya as he writhes against Kei, trying to twist his head away from the knife pressed so dangerously to his jugular. “Tats, c’mon, _Tatsuya,_ get him off me, I swear, I-I’ll tell it all to the cops, just don’t let him kill me! I promise, I _promise_ I didn’t wanna do it! Naoya meant _everything_ to me!!”

Somehow, Tatsuya can bring himself to his feet. He rises up, slowly, unsteady; Masao follows him with his eyes, the fear so much more visible on his face when the light pours down and he can see him clearly. Tatsuya’s arms are heavy at his side, and his fingers are stiff, inflexible. Inside of his chest, he can feel his lungs breathe, a manual motion that strains his chest with every inhale. Images of time between jobs and duties morph in his mind, shapeless memories that take no substance, only reminding him of what burns in his throat. He takes one step towards Masao, who tenses from the silence. As if he was in a fog, or a haze over the road, Tatsuya reaches forward, a hand loose at the wrist, to take the knife from Kei. He peels Kei’s fingers off of the black handle, and takes it into his own two hands. Somewhere, as Tatsuya stares empty into Masao’s desperate eyes, Kei steps away.

Masao’s scream is loud, and it splits against the sound of flesh being cut. Tatsuya bring the blade down into where Masao’s clavicle sits, then he rips it up high above his head to bring it down once more. He pierces his throat, bubbling the scream into a violent heave thick with blood, and tears the knife free to stab his chest, then down into his belly, right below his ribs. No words break the focus, no outcry of horror pulls Tatsuya free of what he must do, the guiding hand of Naoya justifying everything that flashes through Tatsuya’s mind in fragments. The chair falls some time with Tatsuya, who braces himself against the bloody floor to stab him again, and then he gets both hands back on the blade to stab Masao again, and then again, and then again, and then again, and then Maya has him in her arms cradled close with the knife pulled free from Tatsuya’s shaking hands, and then he starts to scream into her chest a sob as violent as the blood on his face and fingers, and then he starts crying, and crying, and crying, while the air becomes thick with blood, and revenge, and regret.


	35. west coast hope

Kumi’s arms are around his shoulders before the court's doors shut.

"I'm, sorry, Tatsuya," she confesses in a whisper. "I did everything that I could."

* * *

 

Jun keeps his head down on his side of the glass. The sound of a cheap clock ticks on the wall above Tatsuya, high above his head, thick concrete running through the room to divide the visitor from his presence. His hands are folded on the ledge before him, while Jun’s remain in his lap. He can see Jun bite his lip from the inside, before he finally lifts his head and sweeps his hair from his face.

“You look different already,” he admits, melancholic. Tatsuya’s eyes flicker away momentarily, struggling to keep his focus on Jun. But when Jun finally shifts and leans forward, hands coming up to the desk’s edge and mirroring Tatsuya’s posture, Tatsuya slowly looks back to him. “Not—that’s it's a bad thing. I mean your uniform—Sorry.”

Tatsuya shakes his head. “No, I get it.” He closes his hands, flexes his fingers. Jun’s head slowly tips to the side, and he clears his throat with a curled fist in front of his lips.

The officer that escorted Jun inside the visitation room finally steps out, a terse sigh distant under his breath. The door is a simple wooden one, framed by plastic potted plants, stuffed inside and forgotten. When Tatsuya focuses through the glass, and ignores the wooden frame and thick glass protection, and even if he forgets he can’t hold Jun’s hand, he might be able to forget what stretches far beyond that wooden door, to unpolished tiles and cell blocks. Tatsuya grits his teeth and strains himself when he swallows, nervous and tense. Jun pulls his seat a little closer to the desk, and inches his hand as close against the glass as he can. His knuckles press against it, and Tatsuya mirrors him, a hesitant almost-touch.

“It’s a reduced sentence, right?” Jun asks, his voice filtered through the speaker in the glass. Tatsuya nods, once. “Then that’s - good. How long?”

“Seven years.” Tatsuya runs his thumb against the glass, like he might be able to feel the soft curve of Jun’s hand. “I have to serve at least. Three. It can be reduced some more.”

Jun’s smile is sad, lingering with a hopeful memory. “It’s something to look forward to.”

“It’s hard to do that.”

“I know.” Jun turns his hand, open palm against the glass. He waits for Tatsuya to mirror him, and watches them carefully, with a delicate eye. “But trying is what’s important.”

Tatsuya smiles in return, but it is to keep Jun warmed. He feels the corners of his mouth ache to even try, and his curved lips drop soon after. Jun’s fingers tap against the glass, a gentle beat against Tatsuya’s, and it almost can calm him. When he breathes in, he breathes in the grit of the walls and the dust that wasn’t swept properly, and it burns his throat. He thinks about the hallways Jun had to walk through, the reception, and Tatsuya is already thinking about outside, the walls that keep him in. His fingers curl against the glass, and Jun’s expression grows concerned.

“I want… to visit, as often as I can.” Jun looks at his hand like he wants to slip it under the glass to take Tatsuya’s own. “Once I sort out my parents’ estates and… the family business.”

Tatsuya nods again. “Where’s Scorpio and Taurus?”

“I don’t know,” Jun admits. “I thought they’d call me, but it seems like they’re gone. I know they’re alive, but - I’m going to look for them. You don’t have to worry about it, Tatsuya. It’s my responsibility now.”

“I caused all of these problems, Jun,” Tatsuya insists, closing the fist that hangs off the ledge. “I should help you fix it.”

Jun’s expression darkens, something troubled crossing him. “What are you going to do? If you ask around—no. That is too dangerous. I don’t know who is in here, and we—you—shouldn’t go looking for more trouble. I want you to be as safe as possible in here, Tatsuya.”

Both of them lower their heads, but Tatsuya closes his eyes and takes a deep breath far sooner than Jun does. “Fine. I understand.”

With his head down, Jun nods. “Once that is sorted… I could arrange to visit whenever they can allow me.” He brushes his bangs free from his face once more, and the smile on his face is sad. “The drive out here won’t be that bad.”

“Alderney’s pretty far from the city,” Tatsuya remarks.

“But I’d get to see you,” Jun says, and leans forward to rest as close to the glass as he can, through the booth’s barriers. Tatsuya mirrors him, a mystery in his eyes; amazed, entranced. “And hopefully, with time, we’ll get to properly sit together. In those meeting halls, private rooms.”

Jun’s smile is beautiful up close. When there’s only glass between them, through fingerprints from other patrons, smudges on the glass that can’t obscure Jun’s beauty. Tatsuya leans against the glass like he’s tired, and imagines Jun leaning him just a little more forward, against his shoulder, and taking him home. The reality lingers separate from him for long enough to give Tatsuya a moment of peace. Jun fixes his hair again. When they’re so close to the glass, Jun’s voice feels a lot more clearer.

“I still feel—ah, a little embarrassed,” he admits, but his smile is enough to keep his words warm, and doesn’t cause concern. “From our second date.”

It makes Tatsuya laugh, however briefly.

“So. I’ll… get to know you better,” he says, drawing away to look at Tatsuya once more. He wants to reach forward and touch Jun’s cheek. “And we can talk a little more seriously — much later.”

“I like that idea,” Tatsuya replies, drawing back as well. “It’ll make things easier on my end.”

Jun smiles wider. He can see the peek of teeth behind his lips. It vanishes almost immediately when the door to the visitation lobby opens and Jun turns to look at the entry, where the officer who had guided him inside stood, hand on the doorknob, with Katsuya in the sterile flourescent light behind them. The older, stern man looks directly through Jun, who lowers his head and stands before he is spoken to.

“Suou needs to be able to see both of you,” the man says, “I’ll have to ask you to leave, mister Kurosu.”

“I understand.” Jun looks back for just a moment, his hand lingering on the divider before stepping away, his outdoor coat folded over one arm as he passes the man and Katsuya. With a brusque gesture, the gruff officer guides Katsuya in, muttering something that sounded like ‘twenty minutes’, then closes the heavy wood with little grace.

The silence is worse than what followed Jun on his entry. Katsuya tips his head forward to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then lifts himself back up to watch Tatsuya as he settles into the plastic chair. Katsuya rests his elbows on the divider’s ledge, and sighs very quietly. Enough that Tatsuya almost doesn’t hear him. He folds his hands together.

On Katsuya’s face is a troubled look, as he thinks quietly on what to say, how to form his words. “I won’t be able to visit often. As often as I want, that is, even when I’d be able to.”

Tatsuya keeps his hands in his lap, drawn back once Jun stood to his feet. His eyes remain on Katsuya, and he blinks slowly, neutral. Katsuya takes notice, because one of his hands come up and scratches at the back of his head, beneath the short hairs on his neck.

“Driving this far out of state into Alderney is enough to make people — remember.” He’s honest. It burns something in Tatsuya, but he can’t discern why. Katsuya fixes his glasses again so he can occupy his hands. “It’s nto a good look for the Captain to be visiting — you. Even if you’re my brother. And I don’t like—”

“Katsuya.” Tatsuya brings his hands back up to the glass, his knuckles knocking into the surface. It catches Katsuya off guard, as he tries to tuck the nervous look in his eyes farther behind his glasses. That is what’s bothering him. Not the words, not the honesty, not the appearances that he knows Katsuya has to maintain, because his brother’s never been one to break any kind of expectation or norm that stands in his way. He might be angry that Katsuya cares what people like Tadashi Satomi think later, but he’s not angry about that now. He knows he isn’t. “I understand.”

Katsuya’s expression falls, and then he sighs. “I—still. I don’t want you to think I’m leaving you in here. I’ll—I’ll write. Right?”

“Sure.”

“Tatsuya—let me try again.” Katsuya leans in his chair, on to his elbows and closer to the glass. He lingers close to the glass and the speaker like it’s the last of Tatsuya he’ll ever get to speak to, hold on to, look into and beg for him to come home. Letting him go is conceding defeat. “… I know you’re about to tell me that I don’t have to be grateful for what you did to me. But as your older brother, I not only want to tell you, I have to tell you, because I’ve been doing a really shitty job at telling you how proud I am of you recently.”

Tatsuya’s smile is wry. “How recent are you talking?”

The older of the two of them laughs, short, abrupt, and humourless. But it isn’t bitter, either; it’s dry, it’s worn out. “Probably the last couple of years. Definitely these recent months. And because of that, I don’t want you to ever thing I don’t care about you.”

Whatever smirk tried to form on his face fades, even as Katsuya seems to fight it. He looks at the glass frame like he’s worried it’ll never go away, and Tatsuya will remain behind it forever. Jun had the same look in his eyes. “You saved my life. Uncovered something that’s been infecting the city for who knows how long. I’m not — going to tell you what I think about your methods. I’m only going to tell you that what you did was the right thing.”

He looks at Katsuya with that wry smile still, twisted into something uncomfortable on his face. It hurts to keep, but he can’t swallow it back. “Who knows if it’ll change anything out there. For all I know, the rest of the Circle are reforming.”

“Then that can change,” Katsuya insists, pushing himself forward again, half out of his seat. Tatsuya feels a laugh boiling inside of him, and he coughs to keep it down, because Katsuya wouldn’t understand. He thinks about his brother in the apartments, in the mansions, in the car with a Nanjo, and Tatsuya shakes his head for just a moment, because if Katsuya had to dig himself free from the worst of the city, Tatsuya wonders if he’d do it with a gun in his hand, or some legal aquittal, twist it into the law’s shape, do what he thinks must be done and not what must be done. Katsuya’s eyes darken, because he is concerned, but he won’t ask questions. “It will.”

“Sure,” Tatsuya says again, and looks at his brother with that bitter smile still on his face. “Sure. I’ll be waiting to hear about it. I hope you and Shiori take it apart.”

Katsuya closes his eyes, and Tatsuya can see the rebuttal boiling on his tongue, the scolding he’s so used to giving the younger of the two whenever he’s acted up. But acting up is different than cynicism and a bitter acceptance. He can see Katsuya strain a fist to keep himself calm, and when he anchors himself on whatever thought he keeps, Katsuya opens his eyes and exhales through his nose, watching Tatsuya intently.

“There’s one more thing,” Katsuya says, and leans back into his seat. Tatsuya responds by leaning farther back, folding his arms and watching him intently.

“And that is?”

“You are eligible for parole after four years,” Katsuya says, glancing up over Tatsuya’s head to see the clock on the wall between them. “After your minimum sentence is done. When that happens, lets fight for it.”

Tatsuya’s smile is finally gone, and he settles into something a little more forgiving, with a little wider eyes. “That—yeah. I’ll talk to Yumi when that happens.”

“I want to go with you to Los Santos,” Katsuya admits, resting his hands on the ledge once more. “So we can see dad. Together. He knows you’re in here already.”

The look in Tatsuya’s eyes is incredulous. Katsuya eventually leans forward, and holds the back of his hand against the glass for Tatsuya to mirror, the last brotherly touch they can share.

“He’s not angry at you,” he mutters, “he just hopes you haven’t changed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to EVERYONE who has read, bookmarked, commented and given kudos to this project. it's hard to believe this started it only in january, and we're halfway to december when it finally comes to an end.
> 
> it's been a long time since i managed to finish a multi-chaptered piece, especially one so extensive as this one. it couldn't have been done without my co-author 8TimesTheCharm, who helped with so much inspiration and plot development. he'll have much more hands on work on the upcoming second instalment for the persona 3/4 cast, titled "For The Woman Who Had Everything". we're not *totally* done with liberty city, but the upcoming two(!) stories will be a lot more shorter, and serve to tie up the last of the ends. think of it them like DLC chapters to the story, LOL
> 
> again, thank you so much to everyone who has stuck around and shown your support. it means so much to me (and 8TimesTheCharm) that you enjoy this labour of love we've been working on since 2013, right when grand theft auto V itself came out. i hope you all can look forward to the sequel as much as we are!


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